ttypji^mi^^ 


;*fcHS^*^^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


\ 


I      SING      OF      DEATH 


IB 
3lam?a  Iranrlj 


"And  I,  ncc  or  ding-  to  my  copy,  and 
after  the  simple  cunning  that  God  hath 
sent  to  me,  have  down  set  this  in  print, 
to  the  intent  that  noble  men  may  see  and 
learn  the  noble  acts  of  chivalry '." 


fnrk 


1909 


Copyright,  1909,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1909. 


Add'l 
HTFT 


TO 

Ann? 


•AINSI  A    VOUS,   MADAME,  A   MA  TRES  HAULTE  ET 

TRES  NOBLE  DAME,  A  QUI  J'AYME  A  DEVOIR 

ATTACIIEMENT     ET     OBEISSANCE, 

J'ENVOYE  CE  LIVRET." 


/ 71 77 V\  771 7/5,  as  concerns  the  authenticity  of  these  tales 
perhaps  the  less  debate  may  be  the  higher  wisdom,  if  only 
because  this  Nicolas  dc  Caen,  by  common  report,  was 
never  a  Gradgrindian.  And  in  this  volume  in  particular, 
writing  it  (as  Nicolas  is  supposed  to  have  done)  in  1470,  as  a 
dependant  on  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  it  were  but  human  na 
ture  should  our  author  be  a  little  niggardly  in  his  ascription  of 
praiseworthy  traits  to  any  member  of  the  house  of  Lancaster 
or  of  Valois.  Rather  must  one  in  common  reason  accept 
him  as  confessedly  a  partisan  writer,  who  upon  occasion 
will  rccolor  an  event  with  such  nuances  as  will  be  least 
inconvenient  to  a  Yorkist  and  Burgundian  bias. 

The  reteller  of  these  stories  needs  in  addition  to  plead 
guilty  of  having  abridged  the  tales  with  a  free  hand.  Item, 
these  tales  have  been  a  trifle  pulled  about,  most  notably  in 
"THE  STORY  OF  THE  SATRAPS,"  where  it  seemed  advanta 
geous,  on  reflection,  to  put  into  Gloucester's  mouth  a  history 
which  in  the  original  version  was  related  ab  ovo,  and  as  a 
sort  of  bungling  prologue  to  the  story  proper.  Item,  some 
passages  have  been  restored  in  book-form — pre-eminently  to 
"THE  STORY  OF  THE  HOUSEWIFE" — that  in  an  anterior 
publication  had  been  unavoidably  deleted  through  consid 
eration  of  space. 

And — "sixth  and  lastly" — should  confession  be  made 
that  in  the  present  rendering  a  purely  arbitrary  title  has 
been  assigned  this  little  book;  and  chiefly  for  commercial 


reasons,  since  the  word  ''dizain"  has  been  adjudged  both 
untranslatable  and,  in  its  pristine  form,  repellantly  outre. 

You  are  to  give  my  makeshift,  then,  a  wide  interpretation; 
and  are  always  to  remember  that  in  the  bleak,  florid  age 
these  tales  commemorate  this  chivalry  was  much  the  rarelier 
significant  of  any  personal  trait  than  of  a  world-wide  code 
in  consonance  with  which  all  estimable  people  lived  and 
died.  Its  root  was  the  assumption  (uncontested  then)  that 
a  gentleman  will  always  serve  his  God,  his  honor  and  his 
lady  without  any  reservation;  nor  did  the  many  emanating 
by-laws  ever  deal  with  special  cases  as  concerns  this  triple, 
fixed,  and  fundamental  homage. 

So  here  you  have  a  chance  to  peer  at  our  worlds  youth 
when  chivalry  was  regnant,  and  common-sense  and  cowardice 
were  still  at  nurse.  And,  questionless,  these  same  condi 
tions  were  the  source  of  an  age-long  melee — such  as  this 
week  is,  happily,  impossible  in  any  of  our  parishes — 
wherein  contended  "  courtesy,  and  humanity,  friendliness, 
hardihood,  love  and  friendship,  and  murder,  hate,  and 
virtue,  and  sin."  So  that  1  can  only  counsel  you-  to  do 
after  the  excellencies  and  leave  the  iniquity. 

And  for  the  rest,  since  good  wine  needs  no  bush,  and  an 
inferior  beverage  is  not  likely  to  be  bettered  by  arboreal  adorn 
ment,  the  reteller  of  these  tales  prefers  to  piece  out  his  ex 
ordium  (however  lamely')  with  "THE  PRINTER'S  PREFACE." 
And  it  runs  in  this  fashion: 

"Here  begins  the  volume  called  and  entitled  the  Dizain 
of  Queens,  composed  and  extracted  from  divers  chronicles 
and  other  sources  of  information,  by  that  extremely  ven 
erable  person  and  worshipful  man,  Messirc  Nicolas  de 
Caen,  priest  and  chaplain  to  the  right  noble,  glorious  and 
mighty  prince  in  his  time,  Philippe,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  of 
Brabant,  etc.,  in  the  year  of  the  Incarnation  of  our  Lord 
God  a  thousand  four  hundred  and  seventy;  and  imprinted 

vi 


by  me,  Colard  Mansion,  at  Bruges,  in  the  year  of  our  said 
Lord  God  a  thousand  four  hundred  and  seventy-one;  at  the 
commandment  of  the  right  high,  mighty  and  virtuous  Prin 
cess,  mv  redoubted  Lady,  Isabella  of  Portugal,  by  the  grace 
of  God  Duchess  of  Burgundy  and  Lotharingia,  of  Brabant 
and  Limbourg,  of  Luxembourg  and  of  Gueldres,  Countess 
of  Flanders,  of  Artois,  and  of  Burgundy,  Palatine  of 
Hainautt,  of  Holland,  of  Zealand  and  of  Namur,  Mar- 
quesse  of  the  Holy  Empire,  and  Lady  of  Frisia,  of  Satins 
and  of  Mechlin;  whom  I  beseech  Almighty  God  less  to 
increase  than  to  continue  in  her  virtuous  disposition  in 
this  world,  and  after  our  poor  fleet  existence  to  receive 
eternally.  Amen." 


CHAP. 

PRECAUTIONAL    ............... 

THE  PROLOGUE  .     .  x 

I.          THE  STORY  OF  THE  SESTINA    ..........          7 


II.        THE   STORY  OF  THE  TENSON 


III.  THE   STORY  OF  THE  RAT-TRAP      .........  53 

IV.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHOICES    ..........  75 

V.  THE   STORY  OF  THE   HOUSEWIFE  .........  97 

VI.  THE   STORY  OF  THE   SATRAPS    .... 

VII.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  HERITAGE      .     .  *45 

VIII.  THE   STORY  OF  THE   SCABBARD      .....                      •  *53 

IX.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  NAVARRESE  .     . 

X.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  FOX-BRUSH  .......  *95 

THE  EPILOGUE  ...............  219 


JUusirattntts 


;'l    SING    OF    DEATH'"           • Frontispiece 

;TIIEY    WERE    OVERTAKEN    BY    FALMOUTH    HIMSELF"          .        .  Facing  p.    14 

;  IN  AN  INSTANT  THE  PLACE  RESOUNDED  LIKE  A  SMITHY"      .  50 

'SHE  HAD  VIEWED  THE  GREAT  CONOU  E  R< )  R  "         ....  64 

"MY  PRISONER!'   SHE  SAID" "          78 

"l)O  YOU   FORSAKE  SIRE  EDWARD,   CATHERINE?'"    ...  "        IO2 

"HAIL  YE  THAT  ARE  MY   KINSMEN!'" "        132 

'IN    THE    LIKENESS    OF    A    FAIR    WOMAN" "           148 

"YOU  DESIGN  MURDER?'   RICHARD  ASKEI)" 170 

"TAKE  NOW  YOUR  PETTY  VENGEANCE!'" 186 

'SO  FOR  A   HEART-BEAT   SHE   SAW  HIM" 198 

'NICOLAS:  A  SON  LIVRET"    ,  "       222 


' '  A  fin  que  les  entreprises  honor  ables  et  les  nobles  aven- 
tures  et  faicts  d'armes  soyent  noblemenl  enregistres  et  con 
serves,  je  vais  tr alter  et  rac outer  et  inventer  ung  galimatias." 


THE  DIZAIN  OF  QUEEXS  OF  THAT  NOBLE  MAKER  IN  THE 
FRENCH  TONGUE,  MESSIRE  NICOLAS  DE  CAEN,  DEDICATED 
TO  THE  MOST  ILLUSTRIOUS  ISABELLA  OF  PORTUGAL,  OF 
THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  INDOMITABLE  ALFONSO  HENRIQUES, 
AND  DUCHESS  DOWAGER  OF  BURGUNDY.  HERE  BEGINS 
IN  AUSPICIOUS  WISE  THE  PROLOGUE. 


fflfytualrg 


A  sa  Dame 

INASMUCH  as  it  was  by  your  command, 
illustrious  and  exalted  lady,  that  I  have 
gathered  together  these  stories  to  form 
the  present  little  book,  you  should  the 
less  readily  suppose  I  have  presumed  to 
dedicate  to  your  Serenity  this  trivial  offer 
ing  because  of  my  esteeming  it  to  be  not  undeserving  of 
your  acceptance.  The  truth  is  otherwise;  and  your 
postulant  now  approaches  as  one  not  spurred  toward  you 
by  vainglory  but  rather  by  plain  equity,  and  simply  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that  he  who  seeks  to  write 
of  noble  ladies  must  necessarily  implore  at  outset  the 
patronage  of  her  who  is  the  light  and  mainstay  of  our 
age.  In  fine,  I  humbly  bring  my  book  to  you  as  Phidyle 
approached  another  and  less  sacred  shrine,  farre  pip  et 
salente  mica,  and  lay  before  you  this  my  valueless  mean 
tribute  not  as  appropriate  to  you  but  as  the  best  I  have 
to  offer. 

It  is  a  little  book  wherein  I  treat  of  divers  queens  and 
of   their  love-business;  and  with  necessitated  candor   I 


concede  my  chosen  field  to  have  been  harvested,  and  even 
scrupulously  gleaned,  by  many  writers  of  innumerable 
conditions.  Since  Dares  Phrygius  wrote  of  Queen  Heleine 
and  Virgil  (thac  shrewd  necromancer)  of  Queen  Dido, 
a  preponderating  mass  of  clerks,  In  casting  about  for  high 
and  serious  matter,  have  chosen,  as  though  it  were  by 
common  instinct,  to  dilate  upon  the  amours  of  royal 
women.  Even  in  romance  we  scribblers  must  contrive 
it  so  that  the  fair  Nicolette  shall  be  discovered  in  the  end 
to  be  no  less  than  the  King's  daughter  of  Carthage,  and 
that  Sir  Doon  of  Mayence  shall  never  sink  in  his  love- 
affairs  beneath  the  degree  of  a  Saracen  princess;  and  we 
are  backed  in  this  old  procedure  not  only  by  the  au 
thority  of  Aristotle  but,  oddly  enough,  by  that  of  reason 
as  well. 

Kings  have  their  policies  and  wars  wherewith  to  drug 
each  appetite.  But  their  consorts  are  denied  these 
makeshifts;  and  love  may  rationally  be  defined  as  the 
pivot  of  each  normal  woman's  life,  and  in  consequence 
as  the  arbiter  of  that  ensuing  life  which  is  eternal.  Be 
cause — as  of  old  Horatius  Flaccus  demanded,  though  not, 
to  speak  the  truth,  of  any  woman,— 

Quo  fugis?    ah  demens !    nulla  cst  fttga,   in  licet  usque 
Ad  Tan  aim  fitgias,   usque  scqiictur  amor. 

And  a  dairymaid,  let  us  say,  may  love  whom  she  will, 
and  nobody  else  be  a  penny  the  worse  for  her  mistaking 
of  the  preferable  nail  whereon  to  hang  her  affections; 
whereas  with  a  queen  this  choice  is  more  portentous. 
She  plays  the  game  of  life  upon  a  loftier  table,  ruthlessly 
illuminated,  and  stakes  by  her  least  movement  a  tall 
pile  of  counters,  some  of  which  are,  of  necessity,  the 
lives  and  happiness  of  persons  whom  she  knows  not, 
unless  it  be  by  vague  report.  Grandeur  sells  itself  at 

4 


this  hard  price,  and  at  no  other.  A  queen  must  always 
play,  in  fine,  as  the  vicar  of  destiny,  free  to  choose  but 
very  certainly  compelled  to  justify  that  choice  in  the 
ensuing  action;  as  is  strikingly  manifested  by  the  au 
thentic  histories  of  Brunhalt,  and  of  Guenevere,  and  of 
swart  Cleopatra,  and  of  many  others  that  were  born 
to  the  barbaric  queenhoods  of  a  now  extinct  and  dusty 
time. 

For  royal  persons  are  (I  take  it)  the  immediate  and  the 
responsible  stewards  of  Heaven;  and  since  the  nature 
of  each  man  is  like  a  troubled  stream,  now  muddied  and 
now  clear,  their  prayer  must  ever  be,  Defenda  me,  Dios, 
de  me!  Yes,  of  exalted  people,  and  even  of  their  near 
associates,  life,  because  it  aims  more  high  than  the 
aforementioned  Aristotle,  demands  upon  occasion  a 
more  great  catharsis  which  would  purge  any  audience 
of  unmanliness,  through  pity  and  through  terror,  be 
cause,  by  a  quaint  paradox,  the  players  have  been 
purged  of  all  humanity.  For  in  that  aweful  moment 
would  Destiny  have  thrust  her  sceptre  into  the  hands 
of  a  human  being  and  Chance  would  have  exalted  a 
human  being  into  usurpal  of  her  chair.  These  two — 
with  what  immortal  chucklings  one  may  facilely  imagine 
—would  then  have  left  the  weakling  thus  enthroned, 
free  to  direct  the  pregnant  outcome,  free  to  choose,  and 
free  to  steer  the  conjuration  either  in  the  fashion  of 
Friar  Bacon  or  of  his  man,  but  with  no  intermediate 
course  unbarred.  Now  prove  thyself!  saith  Destiny; 
and  Chance  appends:  Now  prove  thyself  to  be  at  bottom 
a  god  or  else  a  beast,  and  now  eternally  abide  that  choice. 
And  now  (O  crowning  irony!)  we  may  not  tell  thee  clearly 
by  which  choice  thoit  may  si  prove  either. 

It  is  of  ten  such  moments  that  I  treat  within  this  little 
book, 

5 


You  alone,  I  think,  of  all  persons  living  have  learned, 
as  you  have  settled  by  so  many  instances,  to  rise  above 
mortality  in  such  a  testing,  and  unfailingly  to  merit  by 
your  conduct  the  plaudits  and  the  adoration  of  our  other 
wise  dissentient  world.  You  have  .sat  often  in  this  same 
high  chair  of  Chance;  and  in  so  doing  have  both  graced 
and  hallowed  it.  Yet  I  forbear  to  speak  of  this,  simply 
because  I  dare  not  seem  to  couple  your  well-known  per 
fection  with  any  imperfect  encomium. 

Therefore  to  you,  madame—most  excellent  and  noble  lady, 

to  whom  I  love  to  owe  both  loyalty  and  love — 

I  dedicate  this  little  book. 


I 
of 


"  Armatz  dc  fust  c  dc  fcr  e  d'acier, 
Mos  oslal  seran  bosc,  jrcgz,  e  semdier, 
E  mas  cansos  sestinas  e  descortz, 
E  mantenrai  los  frevols  contra  'Is  jortz" 


THE  FIRST  NOVEL. — ALIANORA  OF  PROVENCE,  COMING  IN 
DISGUISE  AND  IN  ADVERSITY  TO  A  CERTAIN  CLERK,  IS  BY 
HIM  CONDUCTED  ACROSS  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY;  AND  IN 
THAT  TROUBLED  JOURNEY  ARE  MADE  MANIFEST  TO  EITHER 
THE  SNARES  WHICH  HAD  BEGUILED  THEM  AFORETIME. 


fN  this  place  we  have  to  do  with  the  opening 
tale  of  the  Dizain  of  Queens.  I  abridge, 
as  afterward,  at  discretion;  and  an  initial 
'account  of  the  Barons'  War,  among  other 
\superfluities,  I  amputate  as  more  remark 
able  for  veracity  than  interest.  The  re 
sult,  we  will  agree  at  outset,  is  that  to  the  Norman  cleric 
appertains  whatever  these  tales  may  have  of  merit,  where 
as  what  you  find  distasteful  in  them  you  must  impute 
to  my  delinquencies  in  skill  rather  than  in  volition. 

Within  the  half -hour  after  de  Giars'  death  (here  one 
overtakes  Nicolas  mid-course  in  narrative)  Dame  Alianora 
thus  stood  alone  in  the  corridor  of  a  strange  house. 
Beyond  the  arras  the  steward  and  his  lord  were  at  irri 
table  converse. 

First,  "If  the  woman  be  hungry,"  spoke  a  high  and 
peevish  voice,  "feed  her.  If  she  need  money,  give  it  to 
her.  But  do  not  annoy  me." 

"This  woman  demands  to  see  the  master  of  the  house," 
the  steward  then  retorted. 

"O  incredible  B^ieotian,  inform  her  that  the  master  of 
the  house  has  no  time  to  waste  upon  vagabonds  who 
select  the  middle  of  the  night  as  an  eligible  time  to  pop 
out  of  nowhere.  Why  did  you  not  do  so  in  the  beginning, 
you  dolt?"  He  got  for  answer  only  a  deferential  cough, 
and  very  shortly  continued:  "This  is  remarkably  vexa- 

9 


tious.  Vox  et  pr&terea  nihil, — which  signifies,  Yeck,  that 
to  converse  with  women  is  always  delightful.  Admit 
her."  This  was  done,  and  Dame  Alianora  came  into  an 
apartment  littered  with  papers,  where  a  neat  and  shriv 
elled  gentleman  of  fifty-odd  sat  at  a  desk  and  scowled. 

He  presently  said,  "You  may  go,  Yeck."  He  had 
risen,  the  magisterial  attitude  with  which  he  had  await 
ed  her  advent  cast  aside.  "O  God!"  he  said;  "you,  ma- 
dame!"  His  thin  hands,  scholarly  hands,  were  plucking 
at  the  air. 

Dame  Alianora  had  paused,  greatly  astonished,  and 
there  was  an  interval  before  she  said,  "I  do  not  recognize 
you,  messire." 

"And  yet,  madame,  I  recall  very  clearly  that  some 
thirty  years  ago  Count  Berenger,  then  reigning  in  Provence, 
had  about  his  court  four  daughters,  each  one  of  whom 
was  afterward  wedded  to  a  king.  First,  Margaret,  the 
eldest,  now  regnant  in  France;  then  Alianora,  the  second 
and  most  beautiful  of  these  daughters,  whom  troubadours 
hymned  as  La  Belle.  She  was  married  a  long  while  ago, 
madame,  to  the  King  of  England,  Lord  Henry,  third  of 
that  name  to  reign  in  these  islands." 

Dame  Alianora's  eyes  were  narrowing.  "There  is 
something  in  your  voice,"  she  said,  "which  I  recall." 

He  answered:  "Madame  and  Queen,  that  is  very  likely, 
for  it  is  a  voice  which  sang  a  deal  in  Provence  when  both 
of  us  were  younger.  I  concede  with  the  Roman  that  I 
have  somewhat  deteriorated  since  the  reign  of  good  Cynara. 
Yet  have  you  quite  forgotten  the  Englishman  who  made 
so  many  songs  of  you  ?  They  called  him  Osmund  Heleigh . ' ' 

"He  made  the  Sestina  of  Spring  which  my  father 
envied,"  the  Queen  said;  and  then,  with  a  new  eagerness: 
"Messire,  can  it  be  that  you  are  Osmund  Heleigh?" 
He  shrugged  assent.  She  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time, 

JQ 


ullt?   ^tnrg  nf  tljF   J§>r0 

rather  sadly,  and  afterward  demanded  if  he  were  the 
King's  man  or  of  the  barons'  party.  The  nervous  hands 
were  raised  in  deprecation. 

"I  have  no  politics,"  he  began,  and  altered  it,  gallantly 
enough,  to,  "I  am  the  Queen's  man,  madame." 

"Then  aid  me,  Osmund,"  she  said;  and  he  answered 
with  a  gravity  which  singularly  became  him: 

"You  have  reason  to  understand  that  to  my  fullest 
power  I  will  aid  you." 

"You  know  that  at  Lewes  these  swine  overcame  us." 
He  nodded  assent.  "And  now  they  hold  the  King  my 
husband  captive  at  Kenilworth.  I  am  content  that  he 
remain  there,  for  he  is  of  all  the  King's  enemies  the  most 
dangerous.  But,  at  Wallingford,  Leicester  has  im 
prisoned  my  son,  Prince  Edward.  The  Prince  must  be 
freed,  my  Osmund.  Warren  de  Basingbourne  com 
mands  what  is  left  of  the  royal  army,  now  entrenched  at 
Bristol,  and  it  is  he  who  must  liberate  him.  Get  me  to 
Bristol,  then.  Afterward  we  will  take  Wallingford." 
The  Queen  issued  these  orders  in  cheery,  practical  fashion, 
and  did  not  admit  opposition  into  the  account,  for  she 
was  a  capable  woman. 

"But  you,  madame?"  he  stammered.  "You  came 
alone?" 

"I  come  from  France,  where  I  have  been  entreating— 
and  vainly  entreating — succor  from  yet  another  monkish 
king,  the  pious  Lewis  of  that  realm.  Eh,  what  is  God 
about  when  He  enthrones  these  cowards,  Osmund? 
Were  I  a  king,  were  I  even  a  man,  I  would  drive  these 
smug  English  out  of  their  foggy  isle  in  three  days'  space! 
I  would  leave  alive  not  one  of  these  curs  that  dare  yelp 
at  me!  I  would—  She  paused,  the  sudden  anger 
veering  into  amusement.  ' '  See  how  I  enrage  myself  when 
I  think  of  what  your  people  have  made  me  suffer,"  the 

IT 


Queen  said,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "In  effect,  I 
skulked  back  to  this  detestable  island  in  disguise,  ac 
companied  by  Avenel  de  Giars  and  Hubert  Fitz-Herveis. 
To-night  some  half-dozen  fellows — robbers,  thorough 
knaves,  like  all  you  English, — suddenly  attacked  us  on 
the  common  yonder  and  slew  the  men  of  our  party. 
While  they  were  cutting  de  Giars'  throat  I  slipped  away 
in  the  dark  and  tumbled  through  many  ditches  till  I 
spied  your  light.  There  you  have  my  story.  Now  get 
me  an  escort  to  Bristol." 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Messire  Heleigh  spoke.  Then, 
"These  men,"  he  said—  " this  de  Giars  and  this  Fitz- 
Herveis — they  gave  their  lives  for  yours,  as  I  understand 
it,— pro  caris  amicis.  And  yet  you  do  not  grieve  for 
them." 

"I  shall  regret  de  Giars,"  the  Queen  said,  "for  he  made 
excellent  songs.  But  Fitz-Herveis? — foh!  the  man  had 
a  face  like  a  horse."  Then  again  her  mood  changed. 
"Many  men  have  died  for  me,  my  friend.  At  first  I  wept 
for  them,  but  now  I  am  dry  of  tears." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Cato  very  wisely  says,  'If  thou 
hast  need  of  help,  ask  it  of  thy  friends/  But  the  sweet 
friend  that  I  remember  was  a  clean-eyed  girl,  joyous  and 
exceedingly  beautiful.  NOWT  you  appear  to  me  one  of 
those  ladies  of  remoter  times — Faustina,  or  Jael,  or 
Artemis,  the  King's  wife  of  Tauris, — they  that  slew  men, 
laughing.  I  am  somewhat  afraid  of  you,  madame." 

She  was  angry  at  first;  then  her  face  softened.  "You 
English!"  she  said,  only  half  mirthful.  "Eh,  my  God! 
you  remember  me  when  I  was  happy.  Now  you  behold 
me  in  my  misery.  Yet  even  now  I  am  your  Queen, 
messire,  and  it  is  not  yours  to  pass  judgment  upon  me." 

"I  do  not  judge  you,"  he  hastily  returned.  "Rather 
I  cry  with  him  of  old,  Omma  iucerta  raiione!  and  I  cry 

12 


with  Salomon  that  he  who  meddles  with  the  strife  of 
another  man  is  like  to  him  that  takes  a  hound  by  the 
ears.  Yet  listen,  madame  and  Queen.  I  cannot  afford 
you  an  escort  to  Bristol.  This  house,  of  which  I  am  in 
temporary  charge,  is  Longaville,  my  brother's  manor. 
And  Lord  Brudenel,  as  you  doubtless  know,  is  of  the 
barons'  party  and— scant  cause  for  grief !— with  Leicester 
at  this  moment.  I  can  trust  none  of  my  brother's  people, 
for  I  believe  them  to  be  of  much  the  same  opinion  as  those 
Londoners  who  not  long  ago  stoned  you  and  would  have 
sunk  your  barge  in  Thames  River.  Oh,  let  us  not  blink 
the  fact  that  you  are  not  overbeloved  in  England.  So  an 
escort  is  out  of  the  question.  Yet  I,  madame,  if  you  so 
elect,  will  see  you  safe  to  Bristol." 

I' You?  singly?"  the  Queen  demanded. 
"My  plan  is  this:  Singing  folk  alone  travel  whither  they 
will.     We  will  go  as  jongleurs,  then.     I  can  yet  manage 
a  song  to  the  viol,  I  dare  affirm.     And  you  must  pass  as 
my  wife." 

He  said  this  with  a  very  curious  simplicity.  The  plan 
seemed  unreasonable,  and  at  first  Dame  Alianora  waved 
it  aside.  Out  of  the  question!  But  reflection  suggested 
nothing  better;  it  was  impossible  to  remain  at  Longaville, 
and  the  man  spoke  sober  truth  when  he  declared  any 
escort  other  than  himself  to  be  unprocurable.  Besides, 
the  lunar  madness  of  the  scheme  was  its  strength ;  that  the 
Queen  would  venture  to  cross  half  England  unprotected 
—and  Messire  Heleigh  on  the  face  of  him  was  a  paste 
board  buckler,— was  an  event  which  Leicester  would 
neither  anticipate  nor  on  report  credit.  There  you  were! 
these  English  had  no  imagination.  The  Queen  snapped 
her  fingers  and  said:  "Very  willingly  will  I  be  your  wife, 
my  Osmund.  But  how  do  I  know  that  I  can  trust  you  ? 
Leicester  would  give  a  deal  for  me,— any  price  in  reason 


for  the  Sorceress  of  Provence.  And  you  are  not  wealthy, 
I  suspect." 

"You  may  trust  me,  mon  bel  esper" — his  eyes  here 
were  those  of  a  beaten  child, — "since  my  memory  is 
better  than  yours."  Messire  Osmund  Heleigh  gathered 
his  papers  into  a  neat  pile.  "This  room  is  mine.  To 
night  I  keep  guard  in  the  corridor,  madame.  We  will 
start  at  dawn." 

When  he  had  gone,  Dame  Alianora  laughed  contented 
ly.  "Mon  bel  esper!  my  fairest  hope!  The  man  called 
me  that  in  his  verses — thirty  years  ago!  Yes,  I  may 
trust  you,  my  poor  Osmund." 

So  they  set  out  at  cockcrow,  lie  had  procured  a  viol 
and  a  long  falchion  for  himself,  and  had  somewhere  got 
suitable  clothes  for  the  Queen;  and  in  their  aging  but 
decent  garb  the  two  approached  near  enough  to  the 
similitude  of  what  they  desired  to  be  esteemed.  In  the 
courtyard  a  knot  of  servants  gaped,  nudged  one  another, 
but  openly  said  nothing.  Messire  Heleigh,  as  they  in 
terpreted  it,  was  brazening  out  an  affair  of  gallantry  before 
the  countryside ;  and  they  appeared  to  consider  his  casual 
observation  that  they  would  find  a  couple  of  dead  men  on 
the  common  exceedingly  diverting. 

When  the  Queen  asked  him  the  same  morning:  "And 
what  will  you  sing,  my  Osmund  ?  Shall  we  begin  with 
the  Sestina  of  Spring"?  Osmund  Heleigh  grunted. 

"  I  have  forgotten  that  rubbish  long  ago.  Oinnis 
amans,  amens,  saith  the  satirist  of  Rome  town,  and  with 
some  show  of  reason." 

Followed  silence. 

One  sees  them  thus  trudging  the  brown,  naked  plains 
under  a  sky  of  steel.  In  a  pageant  the  woman,  full- 
veined  and  comely,  her  russet  gown  girded  up  like  a  har 
vester's,  might  not  inaptly  have  prefigured  October;  and 

14 


THEY      WERE     OVERTAKEN      BY      FALMOUTH       HIMSELF 


nf  it)?  l$?0itna 

for  less  comfortable  November  you  could  nowhere  have 
found  a  symbol  more  precise  than  her  lank  companion, 
humorously  peevish  under  his  white  thatch  of  hair,  and 
so  constantly  fretted  by  the  sword  tapping  at  his  ankles. 

They  made  Hurlburt  prosperously  and  found  it  vacant, 
for  the  news  of  Falmouth's  advance  had  driven  the  vil 
lagers  hillward.  There  was  in  this  place  a  child,  a  naked 
boy  of  some  two  years,  lying  on  a  doorstep,  overlooked 
in  their  gross  terror.  As  the  Queen  with  a  sob  lifted  this 
boy  the  child  died. 

"Starved!"  said  Osmund  Heleigh;  "and  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  my  snug  home!" 

The  Queen  laid  down  the  tiny  corpse,  and,  stooping, 
lightly  caressed  its  sparse  flaxen  hair.  She  answered 
nothing,  though  her  lips  moved. 

Past  Vachel,  scene  of  a  recent  skirmish,  with  many 
dead  in  the  gutters,  they  were  overtaken  by  Falmouth 
himself,  and  stood  at  the  roadside  to  afford  his  troop 
passage.  The  Marquess,  as  he  went  by,  flung  the  Queen 
a  coin,  with  a  jest  sufficiently  high-flavored.  She  knew 
the  man  her  inveterate  enemy,  knew  that  on  recognition 
he  would  have  killed  her  as  he  would  a  wolf;  she  smiled 
at  him  and  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"That  is  very  remarkable,"  Messire  Heleigh  observed. 
"I  was  hideously  afraid,  and  am  yet  shaking.  But  you, 
madame,  laughed." 

The  Queen  replied:  "I  laughed  because  I  know  that 
some  day  I  shall  have  Lord  Falmouth's  head.  It  will  be 
very  sweet  to  see  it  roll  in  the  dust,  my  Osmund." 

Messire  Heleigh  somewhat  dryly  observed  that  tastes 
differed. 

At  Jessop  Minor  a  more  threatening  adventure  befell. 
Seeking  food  at  the  Cat  and  Hauibois  in  that  village,  they 
blundered  upon  the  same  troop  at  dinner  in  the  square 


(Eltttialrtj 

about  the  inn.  Falmouth  and  his  lieutenants  were 
somewhere  inside  the  house.  The  men  greeted  the  sup 
posed  purveyors  of  amusement  with  a  shout;  and  one 
among  them — a  swarthy  rascal  with  his  head  tied  in  a 
napkin — demanded  that  the  jongleurs  grace  their  meal 
with  a  song. 

At  first  Osmund  put  him  off  with  a  tale  of  a  broken 
viol. 

But,  "Haro!"  the  fellow  blustered;  "by  blood  and  by 
nails !  you  will  sing  more  sweetly  with  a  broken  viol  than 
with  a  broken  head.  I  would  have  you  understand,  you 
hedge-thief,  that  we  gentlemen  of  the  sword  are  not  par 
tial  to  wordy  argument."  Messire  Heleigh  fluttered  in 
efficient  hands  as  the  men-at-arms  gathered  about  them, 
scenting  some  genial  piece  of  cruelty.  "Oh,  you  rab 
bit!"  the  trooper  jeered,  and  caught  him  by  the  throat, 
shaking  him.  In  the  act  this  rascal  tore  open  Messire 
Heleigh's  tunic,  disclosing  a  thin  chain  about  his  neck 
and  a  small  locket,  which  the  fellow  wrested  from  its 
fastening.  "Ahoi!"  he  continued.  "Ahoi,  my  com 
rades,  what  species  of  minstrel  is  this,  who  goes  about 
England  all  hung  with  gold  like  a  Cathedral  Virgin!  He 
and  his  sweetheart"-— the  actual  word  was  grosser — "will 
be  none  the  worse  for  an  interview  with  the  Marquess." 

The  situation  smacked  of  awkwardness,  for  Lord  Fal 
mouth  was  familiar  with  the  Queen,  and  to  be  brought 
specifically  to  his  attention  meant  death  for  two  detected 
masqueraders.  Hastily  Osmund  Heleigh  said: 

"Messire,  the  locket  contains  the  portrait  of  a  lady 
whom  in  youth  I  loved  very  greatly.  Save  to  me,  it  is 
valueless.  I  pray  you,  do  not  rob  me  of  it." 

But  the  trooper  shook  his  head  with  drunken  solem 
nity.  "  I  do  not  like  the  looks  of  this.  Yet  I  will  sell  it 
to  you,  as  the  saying  is,  for  a  song." 

16 


IMnrg  nf  tltr   g>efii 

"It  shall  be  the  king  of  songs,"  said  Osmund— -"the 
song  that  Arnaut  Daniel  first  made.  I  will  sing  for  you 
a  Scstina,  messieurs — a  Sestina  in  salutation  of  Spring." 

The  men  disposed  themselves  about  the  dying  grass,  and 
presently  he  sang. 

Sang  Messire  Helcigh: 

"  Awaken!  for  the  servitors  of  Spring 

Alarshal  his  triiwiph!  ah,  make  haste  to  see 

With  what  tempestuous  pageantry  they  bring 
Mirth  back  to  earth!  hasten,  for  this  is  he 

That  cast  out  Winter  and  the  woes  that  cling 
To  Winter's  garments,  and  bade  April  be! 

"  And  no'W  that  Spring  is  master,  let  us  be 

Content,  and  laugh  as  anciently  'in  Spring 
The  battle-wearied  Tristan  laughed,  when  he 
Was  come  again  Tintagcl-ivard — to  bring 
Glad  news  of  Arthur's  victory  and  see 

Y so udet  with  parted  lips,  that  waver  and  cling. 

"  Anon  in  Brittany  must  Tristan  cling 
To  this  or  th.it  sad  memory,  and  be 

Alone,  as  she  in  Cornwall,  for  in  Spring 
Love  sows,  and  lovers  reap  anon — and  he 

Is  blind,  and  scatters  baleful  seed  that  bring 
Stich  fruitage  as  blind  Love  tacks  eyes  to  see!" 

Osmund  paused  here  for  an  appreciable  interval,  staring 
at  the  Queen.  You  saw  his  flabby  throat  a-quivcr,  his 
eyes  melting,  saw  his  cheeks  kindle,  and  youth  ebb  back 
into  the  lean  man  like  water  over  a  crumbling  dam.  His 
voice  was  now  big  and  desirous. 

Sang  Messire  Heleigh: 


(fl  Ij  t  u  a  I  r  9 

"  Love   sows,  and  lovers  reap;  and  ye  will  see 
The  loved  eyes  lighten,  feel  the  loved  lips  ding 

Never  again  when  in  the  grave  ye  be 
Incurious  of  your  happiness  in  Spring, 

And  get  no  grace  of  Love  there,  whither  he 
That  bartered  life  for  love  no  love  may  bring. 

"  Here  Death  is; — and  no  Heracles  may  bring 
Alccstis  hence,  nor  here  may  Roland  see 

The  eyes  of  Aude,  nor  here  the  wakening  spring 
Vex  any  man  with  memory,  for  there  be 

No  memories  that  cling  as  cerements  cling, 

No  Love  that  baffles  Death,  more  strong  than  he, 

"  Us  hath  he  noted,  and  for  us  hath  he 

An  hour  appointed,  and-  that  hour  will  bring 

Oblivion. — Then,  laugh!     Laugh,  love,  and  see 
The  tyrant  mocked,  what  time  our  bosoms  cling, 

What  time  our  lips  are  red,  what  time  we  be 
Exultant  in  our  little  hour  of  spring! 

"  Thus  in  the  spring  we  mock  at  Death,  though  he 

Will  see  our  children  perish  and  will  bring 
Asunder  all  that  cling  while  love  may  be." 

Then  Osmund  put  the  viol  aside  and  sat  quite  silent. 
The  soldiery  judged,  and  with  cordial  frankness  stated, 
that  the  difficulty  of  his  rhyming  scheme  did  not  atone 
for  his  lack  of  indecency,  but  when  the  Queen  of  England 
went  among  them  with  Messire  Heleigh's  hat  she  found 
them  liberal.  Even  the  fellow  with  the  broken  head 
admitted  that  a  bargain  was  proverbially  a  bargain,  and 
returned  the  locket  with  the  addition  of  a  coin.  So  for 
the  present  these  two  went  safe,  and  quitted  the  Cat  and 
Hautbois  both  fed  and  unmolested. 

18 


^tnrg  nf  tlje   batata 

"My  Osmund,"  Dame  Alianora  said,  presently,  "your 
memory  is  better  than  I  had  thought." 

"  I  remembered  a  boy  and  a  girl,"  he  returned.  "And 
I  grieved  that  they  were  dead." 

Afterward  they  plodded  on  toward  Bowater,  and  the 
ensuing  night  rested  in  Chantrell  Wood.  They  had  the 
good-fortune  there  to  encounter  dry  and  windless  weather 
and  a  sufficiency  of  brushwood,  with  which  Osmund  con 
structed  an  agreeable  fire.  In  its  glow  these  two  sat, 
eating  bread  and  cheese. 

But  talk  languished  at  the  outset.  The  Queen  had 
complained  of  an  ague,  and  Messire  Heleigh  was  sedately 
suggesting  three  spiders  hung  about  the  neck  as  an  in 
fallible  corrective  for  this  ailment,  when  Dame  Alianora 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"Eh,  my  God!"  she  said;  "I  am  wearied  of  such  un 
gracious  aid!  Not  an  inch  of  the  way  but  you  have  been 
thinking  of  your  filthy  books  and  longing  to  be  back  at 
them!  No;  I  except  the  moments  when  you  were  fright 
ened  into  forgetfulness — first  by  Falmouth,  then  by  the 
trooper.  O  Eternal  Father!  afraid  of  a  single  dirty 
soldier!" 

"Indeed,  I  was  very  much  afraid,"  said  Messire  He 
leigh,  with  perfect  simplicity;  " timidus  perire,  madame." 

"You  have  not  even  the  grace  to  be  ashamed!  Yet  I 
am  shamed,  messire,  that  Osmund  Heleigh  should  have 
become  the  book-muddled  pedant  you  are.  For  I  loved 
him — do  you  understand? — I  loved  young  Osmund  He 
leigh." 

He  also  had  risen  in  the  firelight,  and  now  its  convulsive 
shadows  marred  two  dogged  faces.  "  I  think  it  best  not 
to  recall  that  boy  and  girl  who  are  so  long  dead.  And, 
frankly,  madame  and  Queen,  the  merit  of  the  business  I 
have  in  hand  is  questionable.  It  is  you  who  have  set 
3  19 


all  England  by  the  cars,  and  I  am  guiding  you  toward 
opportunities  for  further  misehief.  1  must  serve  you. 
Understand,  madame,  that  aneient  folly  in  Provence  yon 
der  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair.  Remember  that 
I  cry  nikil  ad  Andromachen  I  I  must  serve  you  because 
you  are  a  woman  and  helpless;  yet  I  cannot  forget  that 
he  who  spares  the  wolf  is  the  sheep's  murderer.  It  would 
be  better  for  all  England  if  you  were  dead.  Hey,  your 
gorgeous  follies,  madame!  Silver  peacocks  set  with  sap 
phires!  Cloth  of  fine  gold— 

"Would  you  have  me  go  unclothed?"  Dame  Alianora 
demanded,  pettishly. 

"Not  so,"  Osmund  retorted;  "again  I  say  to  you  with 
Tertullian,  'Let  women  paint  their  eyes  with  the  tints 
of  chastity,  insert  into  their  ears  the  Word  of  God,  tie 
the  yoke  of  Christ  about  their  necks,  and  adorn  their 
whole  person  with  the  silk  of  sanctity  and  the  damask 
of  devotion.'  And  I  say  to  you — 

But  Dame  Alianora  wras  yawning  quite  frankly.  "  You 
will  say  to  me  that  I  brought  foreigners  into  England,  that 
I  misguided  the  King,  that  I  stirred  up  strife  between  the 
King  and  his  barons.  Eh,  my  God!  I  am  sufficiently 
familiar  with  the  harangue.  Yet  listen,  my  Osmund: 
They  sold  me  like  a  bullock  to  a  man  I  had  never  seen. 
I  found  him  a  man  of  wax,  and  I  remoulded  him.  They 
gave  me  England  as  a  toy;  I  played  with  it.  I  was  the 
Queen,  the  source  of  honor,  the  source  of  wealth — the 
trough,  in  effect,  about  which  swine  gathered.  Never 
in  all  my  English  life,  Osmund,  has  man  or  woman  loved 
me;  never  in  all  my  English  life  have  I  loved  man  or 
woman.  Do  you  understand,  my  Osmund  ? — the  Queen 
has  many  flatterers,  but  no  friends.  Not  a  friend  in 
the  world,  my  Osmund!  And  so  the  Queen  makes  the 
best  of  it  and  amuses  herself." 

20 


QJlt?   §>tnry   of  Ujr   batata 

Somewhat  he  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  answered 
without  asperity : 

"Mon  bel  esper,  I  do  not  find  it  anywhere  in  Holy 
Writ  that  God  requires  it  of  us  to  amuse  ourselves  ;  but 
upon  many  occasions  we  have  been  commanded  to  live 
righteously.  We  are  tempted  in  divers  and  insidious 
ways.  And  we  cry  with  the  Psalmist,  'My  strength  is 
dried  up  like  a  potsherd/  But  God  intends  this,  since, 
until  we  have  here  demonstrated  our  valor  upon  Satan, 
we  are  manifestly  unworthy  to  be  enregistered  in  His 
army.  The  great  Captain  must  be  served  by  proven 
soldiers.  We  may  be  tempted,  but  we  may  not  yield. 

0  daughter  of  the  South!  \ve  may  not  yield!"  he  cried, 
with  an  unheralded,  odd  wildness. 

"Again  you  preach,"  Dame  Alianora  said.  "That  is 
a  venerable  truism." 

" Ho,  madame,"  he  returned,  "is  it  on  that  account  the 
less  true?" 

Pensively  the  Queen  considered  this.  "  You  are  a 
good  man,  my  Osmund,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  fine 
irrelevance,  "though  you  are  very  droll.  Ohime!  it  is 
a  pity  that  I  was  born  a  princess!  Had  it  been  possible 
for  me  to  be  your  wife,  I  would  have  been  a  better  woman. 

1  shall  sleep  now  and  dream  of  that  good  and  stupid  and 
contented  woman  I  might   have  been."     So  presently 
these  twyo  slept  in  Chantrell  Wood. 

Followed  four  days  of  journeying.  As  Messer  Dante 
had  not  yet  surveyed  Malebolge,  they  lacked  a  parallel 
for  that  which  they  encountered;  their  traverse  discov 
ered  England  razed,  charred,  and  depopulate — picked 
bones  of  an  island,  a  vast  and  absolute  ruin  about  which 
passion-wasted  men  skulked  like  rats.  They  went  with 
out  molestation;  malice  and  death  had  journeyed  on  their 
road  aforetime,  as  heralds,  and  had  swept  it  clear. 

21 


At  every  trace  of  these  hideous  precessors  Osmund  He- 
leigh  would  say,  "  By  a  day's  ride  I  might  have  prevented 
this."  Or,  "By  a  day's  ride  I  might  have  saved  this 
woman."  Or,  "By  two  days'  riding  I  might  have  fed 
this  child." 

The  Queen  kept  Spartan  silence,  but  daily  you  saw  the 
fine  woman  age.  In  their  slow  advance  every  inch  of 
misery  was  thrust  before  her  as  for  inspection;  meticu 
lously  she  observed  and  appraised  her  handiwork. 

Bastling  the  royal  army  had  recently  sacked.  There 
remained  of  this  village  the  skeletons  of  two  houses,  and 
for  the  rest  a  jumble  of  bricks,  rafters  half-burned,  many 
calcined  fragments  of  humanity,  and  ashes.  At  Bas 
tling,  Messire  Heleigh  turned  to  the  Queen  toiling  behind. 

"Oh,  madame!"  he  said,  in  a  dry  whisper,  "this  was 
the  home  of  so  many  men!" 

"I  burned  it,"  Dame  Alianora  replied.  "That  man 
we  passed  just  now  I  killed.  Those  other  men  and  wom 
en — my  folly  killed  them  all.  And  little  children,  my 
Osmund!  The  hair  like  corn-floss,  blood-dabbled!" 

"Oh,  madame!"  he  wailed,  in  the  extremity  of  his 
pity. 

For  she  stood  with  eyes  shut,  all  gray.  The  Queen 
demanded:  "Why  have  they  not  slain  me?  Was  there 
no  man  in  England  to  strangle  the  proud  wanton  ?  Are 
you  all  cowards  here?" 

"Not  cowards!"  he  cried.  "Your  men  and  Leicester's 
ride  about  the  world,  and  draw  sword  and  slay  and  die 
for  the  right  as  they  see  it.  And  you  for  the  right  as  ye 
see  it.  But  I,  madame!  I!  I,  who  sat  snug  at  home 
spilling  ink  and  trimming  rose-bushes!  God's  world, 
madame,  and  I  in  it  afraid  to  speak  a  word  for  Him! 
God's  world,  and  a  curmudgeon  in  it  grudging  God  the 
life  He  gave!"  The  man  flung  out  his  soft  hands  and 

22 


snarled:  "We  arc  tempted  in  divers  and  insidious  ivays. 
But  I,  who  rebuked  you!  behold,  now,  with  how  gross  a 
snare  was  I  entrapped!" 

"I  do  not  understand,  my  Osmund." 

"  I  wras  afraid,  madame,"  he  returned,  dully.  '  Every 
where  men  fight  and  I  am  afraid  to  die." 

So  they  stood  silent  in  the  ruins  of  Bastling. 

"  Of  a  piece  with  our  lives,"  Dame  Alianora  said  at  last. 
"All  ruin,  my  Osmund." 

But  Messire  Heleigh  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed, 
new  color  in  his  face.  "  Presently  men  will  build  here, 
my  Queen.  Presently,  as  in  legend  the  Arabian  bird, 
arises  from  these  ashes  a  lordlier  and  more  spacious 
town." 

Then  they  went  forward.  The  next  day  Fate  loosed 
upon  them  Gui  Camoys,  lord  of  Bozon,  Foliot,  and 
Thwenge,  who,  riding  alone  through  Poges  Copse,  found 
there  a  man  and  a  woman  over  their  limited  supper. 
The  woman  had  thrown  back  her  hood,  and  Camoys 
drew  rein  to  stare  at  her.  Lispingly  he  spoke  the  true 
court  dialect. 

''Ma  belle,"  said  this  Camoys,  in  friendly  condescen 
sion,  "n'estez  vous  pas  jongleurs?" 

Dame  Alianora  smiled  up  at  him.  "Ouais,  messire; 
mon  mary  faict  les  chancons —  Here  she  paused,  with 
dilatory  caution,  for  Camoys  had  leaped  from  his  horse, 
giving  a  great  laugh. 

"A  prize!  ho,  an  imperial  prize!"  Camoys  shouted. 
"A  peasant  woman  with  the  Queen's  face,  who  speaks 
French!  And  who,  madame,  is  this?  Have  you  by 
any  chance  brought  pious  Lewis  from  oversea?  Have  I 
bagged  a  brace  of  monarchs?" 

Here  was  imminent  danger,  for  Camoys  had  known  the 
Queen  some  fifteen  years.  Messire  Heleigh  rose  to  his 

23 


Qtljttialry 

feet,  his  five  clays'  beard  glinting  like  hoar-frost  as  his 
month  twitched. 

"  I  am  Osmund  Heleigh,  mcssire,  younger  brother  to 
the  Earl  of  Brudenel." 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,  I  believe — the  fellow  who  spoils 
parchment.  This  is  odd  company,  however,  Messire  Os 
mund,  for  Brudenel's  brother." 

'A  gentleman  must  serve  his  Queen,  messire.  As 
Cicero  very  justly  observes — 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  that  his  political  opinions  are 
scarcely  to  our  immediate  purpose.  This  is  a  high  mat 
ter,  Messire  Heleigh.  To  let  the  sorceress  pass  is,  of 
course,  out  of  the  question;  upon  the  other  hand,  I  ob 
serve  that  you  lack  weapons  of  defence.  Yet  if  you  will 
have  the  kindness  to  assist  me  in  unarming,  your  courtesy 
will  place  our  commerce  on  more  equal  footing." 

Osmund  had  gone  very  white.  "  I  am  no  swordsman, 
messire— 

"Now,  this  is  not  handsome  of  you,"  Camoys  began. 
"  I  warn  you  that  people  will  speak  harshly  of  us  if  we 
lose  this  opportunity  of  gaining  honor.  And  besides,  the 
woman  will  be  burned.  Plainly,  you  owe  it  to  all  three 
of  us  to  fight." 

" — but  I  refer  my  cause  to  God.  I  am  quite  at  your 
service." 

"No,  my  Osmund!"  Dame  Alianora  then  cried.  "It 
means  your  death." 

He  spread  out  his  hands.  "That  is  God's  affair, 
madanie." 

"Are  you  not  afraid?"  she  breathed. 

"Of  course  I  am  afraid,"  said  Messire  Heleigh,  irri 
tably. 

After  that  he  unarmed  Camoys,  and  presently  they 
faced  each  other  in  their  tunics.  So  for  the  first  time 

24 


§>turjj   nf  tit?   §>rjittua 

in  the  journey  Osmund's  long  falchion  saw  daylight,  lie 
had  thrown  away  his  dagger,  as  Camoys  had  none. 

The  combat  was  sufficiently  curious.  Camoys  raised 
his  left  hand.  "So  help  me  God  and  His  saints,  I  have 
upon  me  neither  bone,  stone,  nor  witchcraft  where 
through  the  power  and  the  word  of  God  might  be  dimin 
ished  or  the  devil's  power  increased." 

Osmund  made  similar  oath.  "Judge  Thou  this  wom 
an's  cause!"  he  cried,  likewise. 

Then  Gui  Camoys  shouted,  as  a  herald  might  have 
done,  "  Laissez  les  aller,  laissez  les  alter,  laissez  les  aller, 
les  bons  combatants!"  and  warily  each  moved  toward 
the  other. 

On  a  sudden  Osmund  attacked,  desperately  apprehen 
sive  of  his  own  cowardice.  Camoys  lightly  eluded  him 
and  slashed  his  undefended  thigh,  drawing  much  blood. 
Osmund  gasped.  He  flung  away  his  sword,  and  in  the 
instant  catching  Camoys  under  the  arms,  threw  him  to 
the  ground.  Messire  Heleigh  fell  with  his  opponent,  who 
in  stumbling  had  lost  his  sword,  and  thus  the  two  strug 
gled  unarmed,  Osmund  atop.  But  Camoys  was  the 
younger  man,  and  Osmund's  strength  was  ebbing  rap 
idly  by  reason  of  his  wound.  Now  Camoys'  tethered 
horse,  rearing  with  nervousness,  tumbled  his  master's 
flat-topped  helmet  into  the  road.  Osmund  caught  it  up 
and  with  it  battered  Camoys  in  the  face,  dealing  severe 
blows. 

"God!"  Camoys  cried,  his  face  all  blood. 

"Do  you  acknowledge  my  quarrel  just?"  said  Osmund, 
between  horrid  sobs. 

"  What  choice  have  I  ?"  said  Gui  Camoys,  very  sensibly. 

vSo  Osmund  rose,  blind  with  tears  and  shivering.  The 
Queen  bound  up  their  wounds  as  best  she  might,  but 
Camos  was  much  dissatisfied. 


(ttljttialry 

"For  reasons  of  His  own,  madame,"  he  observed,  "and 
doubtless  for  sufficient  ones,  God  has  singularly  favored 
your  cause.  I  am  neither  a  fool  nor  a  pagan  to  question 
His  decision,  and  you  two  may  go  your  way  unhampered. 
But  I  have  had  my  head  broken  with  my  own  helmet, 
and  this  I  consider  to  be  a  proceeding  very  little  condu 
cive  toward  enhancing  my  reputation.  Of  your  courtesy, 
messire,  I  must  entreat  another  meeting." 

Osmund  shrank  as  from  a  blow.  Then,  with  a  short 
laugh,  he  conceded  that  this  wras  Camoys'  right,  and  they 
fixed  upon  the  following  Saturday,  with  Poges  Copse  as 
the  rendezvous. 

"I  would  suggest  that  the  combat  be  a  outrance," 
Gui  Camoys  said,  "in  consideration  of  the  fact  it  was 
my  own  helmet.  You  must  undoubtedly  be  aware, 
Messire  Osmund,  that  such  an  affront  is  practically  with 
out  any  parallel." 

This,  too,  was  agreed  upon,  and  they  bade  one  another 
farewell. 

Then,  after  asking  if  they  needed  money,  which  was 
courteously  declined,  Gui  Camoys  rode  away,  and  sang 
as  he  went.  Osmund  Heleigh  remained  motionless.  He 
raised  quivering  hands  to  the  sky. 

"Thou  hast  judged!"  he  cried.  "Thou  hast  judged,  O 
puissant  Emperor  of  Heaven!  Now  pardon!  Pardon 
us  twain!  Pardon  for  unjust  stewards  of  Thy  gifts! 
Thou  hast  loaned  this  woman  dominion  over  England, 
all  instruments  to  aid  Thy  cause,  and  this  trust  she  has 
abused.  Thou  hast  loaned  me  life  and  manhood,  agility 
and  wit  and  strength,  all  instruments  to  aid  Thy  cause. 
Talents  in  a  napkin,  O  God!  Repentant  we  cry  to  Thee. 
Pardon  for  unjust  stewards!  Pardon  for  the  ungirt  loin, 
for  the  service  shirked,  for  all  good  deeds  undone!  Par 
don  and  grace,  O  King  of  kings!  ' 

26 


nf  ilj?  £>rs 

Thus  he  prayed,  while  Gui  Camoys  sang,  riding  deeper 
into  the  tattered,  yellowing  forest.  By  an  odd  chance 
Camoys  had  lighted  on  that  song  made  by  Thibaut  of 
Champagne,  beginning  Signer,  saciez,  ki  or  ne  s1  en  ira, 
and  this  he  sang  with  a  lilt  gayer  than  the  matter  of  it 
countenanced.  Faintly  there  now  came  to  them  the 
sound  of  his  singing,  and  they  found  it,  in  the  circum 
stances,  ominously  adapt. 

Sang  Camoys: 

"  Et  vos,  par  qui  je  n'oi  onques  ale, 
Desccndez  titit  en  infer  le  parfont." 

Dame  Alianora  shivered.  "No,  no!"  she  cried.  "  Is 
He  less  pitiful  than  we?" 

They  slept  that  night  in  Ousley  Meadow,  and  the  next 
afternoon  came  safely  to  Bristol.  You  may  learn  else 
where  with  what  rejoicing  the  royal  army  welcomed  the 
Queen's  arrival,  how  courage  quickened  at  sight  of  the 
generous  virago.  In  the  ebullition  Messire  Heleigh  was 
submerged,  and  Dame  Alianora  saw  nothing  more  of 
him  that  day.  Friday  there  were  counsels,  requisitions, 
orders  signed,  a  memorial  despatched  to  Pope  Urban, 
chief  of  all  a  letter  (this  in  the  Queen's  hand  throughout) 
privily  conveyed  to  the  Lady  Maude  de  Mortemer — 
much  sowing  of  a  seed,  in  fine,  that  eventually  flowered 
victory.  There  was,  however,  no  sign  of  Osmund  He 
leigh,  though  by  Dame  Alianora 's  order  he  was  sought. 

On  Saturday  at  seven  in  the  morning  he  came  to  her 
lodging  in  complete  armor.  From  the  open  helmet  his 
wrinkled  face,  showing  like  a  wizened  nut  in  a  shell, 
smiled  upon  her  questionings. 

"  I  go  to  fight  Gui  Camoys,  madame  and  Queen." 

Dame  Alianora  wrung  her  hands.  "  You  go  to  your 
death." 

27 


GI  li  t  ii  a  I  r  a 

He  answered:  "That  is  very  likely.  Therefore  1  am 
come  to  bid  you  farewell." 

The  Queen  stared  at  him  for  a  while;  on  a  sudden  she 
broke  into  a  curious  fit  of  deep  but  tearless  sobbing. 

"Mon  bel  esper,"  said  Osmund  Heleigh,  very  gently, 
"what  is  there  in  all  this  worthy  of  your  sorrow?  The 
man  will  kill  me;  granted,  for  he  is  my  junior  by  some 
fifteen  years,  and  in  addition  a  skilled  swordsman.  I  fail 
to  see  that  this  is  lamentable.  Back  to  Longaville  I 
cannot  go  after  recent  happenings;  there  a  rope's  end 
awaits  me.  Here  I  must  in  any  event  shortly  take  to  the 
sword,  since  a  beleaguered  army  has  very  little  need  of 
ink-pots;  and  shortly  I  must  be  slain  in  some  skirmish, 
dug  under  the  ribs  perhaps  by  a  greasy  fellow  I  have 
never  seen.  I  prefer  a  clean  death  at  a  gentleman's 
hands." 

"It  is  I  who  bring  about  your  death!"  she  wailed. 
"You  gave  me  gallant  service,  and  I  have  requited  you 
with  death!" 

"Indeed  the  debt  is  on  the  other  side.  The  trivial 
services  I  rendered  you  were  such  as  any  gentleman  must 
render  a  woman  in  distress.  Naught  else  have  I  afforded 
you,  madame,  save  very  anciently  a  Sestina.  Ho,  a 
Sestina!  And  in  return  you  have  given  me  a  Sestina  of 
fairer  make — a  Sestina  of  days,  six  days  of  life."  His 
eyes  were  fervent  now. 

She  kissed  him  on  either  cheek.  ''Farewell,  my  cham 
pion!" 

"Ay,  your  champion.  In  the  twilight  of  life  old  Os 
mund  Heleigh  rides  forth  to  defend  the  quarrel  of  Alia- 
nora  of  Provence.  Reign  wisely,  my  Queen,  that  here 
after  men  may  not  say  I  was  slain  in  an  evil  cause.  Do 
not  shame  my  maiden  venture." 

"I  will  not  shame  you,"  the  Queen  proudly  said; 

28 


ri}  nf  Hie  ^tBt 

and  then,  with  a  change  of  voice:  "  O  my  Osmund!  My 
Osmund!" 

He  caught  her  by  each  wrist.  "Hush!"  he  bade  her, 
roughly;  and  stood  crushing  both  her  hands  to  his  lips, 
with  fierce  staring.  "Wife  of  my  King!  wife  of  my 
King!"  he  babbled;  and  then  flung  her  from  him, crying, 
with  a  great  lift  of  speech :  "  I  have  not  failed  you!  Praise 
God,  I  have  not  failed  you!" 

From  her  window  she  saw  him  ride  away,  a  rich  flush 
of  glitter  and  color.  In  new  armor  with  a  smart  em 
blazoned  surcoat  the  lean  pedant  sat  conspicuously 
erect,  though  by  this  the  fear  of  death  had  gripped  him 
to  the  marrow;  and  as  he  went  he  sang  defiantly,  taunt 
ing  the  weakness  of  his  flesh. 

Sang  Osmund  Heleigh: 

"  Love  sows,  and  lovers  reap;  and  ye  will  sec 

The  loved  eyes  lighten,  feel  the  loved  lips  cling 

Never  again  when  in  the  grave  ye  be 
Incurious  of  your  happiness  in  spring, 

And  get  no  grace  of  Love  there,  whither  he 

That  bartered  life  for  love  no  love  may  bring.''' 

So  he  rode  away  and  thus  out  of  our  history.  But  in 
the  evening  Gui  Camoys  came  into  Bristol  under  a  flag  of 
truce,  and  behind  him  heaved  a  litter  wherein  lay  Osmund 
Heleigh' s  body. 

"For  the  man  was  a  brave  one,"  Camoys  said  to  the 
Queen,  "and  in  the  matter  of  the  reparation  he  owed  me 
acted  very  handsomely.  It  is  fitting  that  he  should  have 
honorable  interment." 

"That  he  shall  not  lack,"  the  Queen  said,  and  gently 
unclasped  from  Osmund's  neck  the  thin  gold  chain,  now 
locketless.  "There  was  a  portrait  here,"  she  said;  "the 

29 


(EJptralrg 

portrait  of  a  woman  whom  he  loved  in  his  youth,  Messire 
Camoys.  And  all  his  life  it  lay  above  his  heart." 

Camoys  answered  stiffly:  "I  imagine  this  same  locket 
to  have  been  the  object  which  Messire  Heleigh  flung  into 
the  river,  shortly  before  we  began  our  combat.  I  do  not 
rob  the  dead,  madame." 

"The  act  was  very  like  him,"  the  Queen  said.  "Mes 
sire  Camoys,  I  think  that  this  day  is  a  festival  in  heaven." 

Afterward  she  set  to  work  on  requisitions  in  the  King's 
name.  But  Osmund  Heleigh  she  had  interred  at  Am- 
bresbury,  commanding  it  to  be  written  on  his  tomb  that 
he  died  in  the  Queen's  cause. 

How  the  same  cause  prospered  (Nicolas  concludes), 
how  presently  Dame  Alianora  reigned  again  in  England 
and  with  what  wisdom,  and  how  in  the  end  this  great 
Queen  died  a  nun  at  Ambresbury  and  all  England  wept 
therefor — this  you  may  learn  elsewhere.  I  have  chosen 
to  record  six  days  of  a  long  and  eventful  life;  and  (as 
Messire  Heleigh  might  have  done)  I  say  modestly  with 
him  of  old,  Majores  major  a  sonent.  Nevertheless,  I  as 
sert  that  many  a  forest  was  once  a  pocketful  of  acorns. 


THE    END    OF    THE    FIRST    NOVEL 


II 


1  Plagues  a  Dieu  ja  la  nucitz  non  falhis, 
N-i  7  mieus  aniicx  lone  de  mi  no  s  partis, 
N-i  la  gayta  jorn  m  alba  ne  vis. 
Oy  Dieus!  oy  Dicus!  de  /'  alba  tan  tost  vcT 


THE  SECOND  NOVEL. — ELLINOR  OF  CASTILE,  BEING  ENAM 
ORED  OF  A  HANDSOME  PERSON,  IS  IN  HER  FLIGHT  FROM 
MARITAL  OBLIGATIONS  ASSISTED  BY  HER  HUSBAND,  AND 
IS  IN  THE  END  BY  HIM  CONVINCED  OF  THE  RATIONALITY 
OF  ALL  ATTENDANT  CIRCUMSTANCES. 


nf  ttyt   Olmamt 


?N  the  year  of  graee  1265  (Nicolas  begins), 
about  the  festival  of  Saint  Peter  ad 
Vincula,  the  Prince  dc  Gatinais  came 
to  Burgos.  Before  this  he  had  lodged 
i  for  three  months  in  the  district  of  Pon- 
r  ___  ,  _____  ^thieu;  and  the  object  of  his  southern 
journey  was  to  assure  the  tenth  Alphonso,  then  ruling 
in  Castile,  that  the  latter's  sister  Ellinor,  now  resident 
at  Entrechat,  was  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt  the 
transcendent  lady  whose  existence  old  romancers  had 
anticipated,  however  cloudily,  when  they  fabled  in  re 
mote  time  concerning  Queen  Heleine  of  Sparta. 

There  was  a  postscript  to  his  news,  and  a  pregnant 
one.  The  world  knew  that  the  King  of  Leon  and  Cas 
tile  desired  to  be  King  of  Germany  as  well,  and  that  at 
present  a  single  vote  in  the  Diet  would  decide  between 
his  claims  and  those  of  his  competitor,  Earl  Richard  of 
Cornwall.  De  Gatinais  chaffered  fairly;  he  had  a  vote, 
Alphonso  had  a  sister.  So  that,  in  effect  —  ohe,  in  effect, 
he  made  no  question  that  his  Majesty  understood! 

The  Astronomer  twitched  his  beard  and  demanded 
if  the  fact  that  Ellinor  had  been  a  married  woman  these 
ten  years  past  was  not  an  obstacle  to  the  plan  which  his 
fair  cousin  had  proposed? 

Here  the  Prince  was  accoutred  cap-a-pie,  and  in  conse 
quence  hauled  out  a  paper.  Dating  from  Viterbo,  Clem- 

33 


ent,  Bishop  of  Rome,  servant  to  the  servants  of  God, 
desirous  of  all  health  and  apostolical  blessing  for  his  well- 
beloved  son  in  Christ,  stated  that  a  compact  between  a 
boy  of  fifteen  and  a  girl  of  ten  was  an  affair  of  no  par 
ticular  moment ;  and  that  in  consideration  of  the  covenan 
tors  never  having  clapped  eyes  upon  each  other  since  the 
wedding-day — even  had  not  the  precontract  of  marriage 
between  the  groom's  father  and  the  bride's  mother  ren 
dered  a  consummation  of  the  childish  oath  an  obvious 
and  a  most  heinous  enormity — why,  that,  in  a  sentence, 
and  for  all  his  coy  verbosity,  the  new  pontiff  was  per 
fectly  amenable  to  reason. 

So  in  a  month  it  was  settled.  Alphonso  would  give 
his  sister  to  de  Gatinais,  and  in  exchange  get  the  latter's 
vote;  and  Gui  Foulques  of  Sabionetta — now7  Clement, 
fourth  Pope  to  assume  that  name — would  annul  the  pre 
vious  marriage,  they  planned,  and  in  exchange  get  an 
armament  to  serve  him  against  Manfred,  the  late  and 
troublesome  tyrant  of  Sicily  and  Apulia.  The  scheme 
promised  to  each  one  of  them  that  which  he  in  partic 
ular  desired,  and  messengers  were  presently  sent  into 
Ponthieu. 

It  is  now  time  wre  put  aside  these  Castilian  matters  and 
speak  of  other  things.  In  England,  Prince  Edward  had 
fought,  and  won,  a  shrewd  battle  at  Evesham;  the  bar 
ons'  power  was  demolished,  there  would  be  no  more  inter 
necine  war;  and  spurred  by  the  unaccustomed  idleness, 
he  began  to  think  of  the  foreign  girl  he  had  not  seen 
since  the  day  he  wedded  her.  She  would  be  a  woman 
by  this,  and  it  was  befitting  that  he  claim  his  wife.  He 
rode  with  Hawise  d'Ebernoe  to  Ambresbury,  and  at  the 
gate  of  the  nunnery  they  parted,  with  what  agonies  are 
immaterial  to  this  history's  progression;  the  tale  merely 
tells  that  latterly  the  Prince  went  into  Lower  Picardy 

34 


g  of  tlj?  uf?n0on 

alone,  riding  at  adventure  as  he  loved  to  do,  and  thus 
came  to  Entrechat,  where  his  wife  resided  with  her  moth 
er,  the  Countess  Johane. 

In  a  wood  near  the  castle  he  approached  a  company 
of  Spaniards,  four  in  number,  their  horses  tethered  while 
these  men  (Oviedans,  as  they  told  him)  drank  about  a 
great  stone  which  served  them  for  a  table.  Being  thirsty, 
he  asked  and  was  readily  accorded  hospitality,  so  that 
within  the  instant  these  five  fell  into  an  amicable  dis 
course.  One  fellow  asked  his  name  and  business  in  those 
parts,  and  the  Prince  gave  each  without  hesitancy  as  he 
reached  for  the  bottle,  and  afterward  dropped  it  just  in 
time  to  catch,  cannily,  with  his  naked  left  hand,  the 
knife-blade  with  which  the  rascal  had  dug  at  the  un 
guarded  ribs.  The  Prince  was  astounded,  but  he  was 
never  a  subtle  man:  here  were  four  knaves  wrho,  for  rea 
sons  unexplained — but  to  them  of  undoubted  cogency- 
desired  the  death  of  Sire  Edward,  the  King  of  England's 
son:  and  manifestly  there  was  here  an  actionable  differ 
ence  of  opinion;  so  he  had  his  s\vord  out  and  presently 
killed  the  four  of  them. 

Anon  there  came  to  him  an  apple-cheeked  boy,  hab 
ited  as  a  page,  who,  riding  jauntily  through  the  forest, 
lighted  upon  the  Prince,  now  in  bottomless  vexation. 
The  lad  drew  rein,  and  his  lips  outlined  a  whistle.  At  his 
feet  were  several  dead  men  in  a  very  untidy  condition. 
And  seated  among  them,  as  throned  upon  the  boulder, 
was  a  gigantic  and  florid  person,  so  tall  that  the  heads  of 
few  people  reached  to  his  shoulder;  a  person  of  hand 
some  exterior,  blond,  and  chested  like  a  stallion,  wrhose  left 
eyebrow  drooped  so  oddly  that  even  in  anger  the  stu 
pendous  man  appeared  to  assure  you,  quite  confidentially, 
that  the  dilapidation  he  threatened  was  an  excellent  jest. 

"Fair  friend,"   said  the  page.     "God  give  you  joy! 
4  35 


(Eljtnalrg 

and  why  have  you  converted  this  forest  into  a  sham 
bles?" 

The  Prince  told  him  of  the  half-hour's  action  as  has 
been  narrated.  "I  have  perhaps  been  rather  hasty,"  he 
considered  by  way  of  peroration,  "  and  it  vexes  me  that 
I  did  not  spare,  say,  one  of  these  lank  Spaniards,  if  only 
long  enough  to  ascertain  why,  in  the  name  of  Termagaunt, 
they  should  have  desired  my  destruction." 

But  midway  in  his  tale  the  boy  had  dismounted  with 
a  gasp,  and  he  was  now  inspecting  the  features  of  one 
carcass.  "Felons,  my  Prince!  You  have  slain  some 
eight  yards  of  felony  which  might  have  cheated  the  gal 
lows  had  they  got  the  Princess  Ellinor  safe  to  Burgos. 
Only  two  clays  ago  this  chalk-eyed  fellow  conveyed  to  her 
a  letter." 

Prince  Edward  said,  "You  appear,  lad,  to  be  some 
what  over  heels  in  the  confidence  of  my  wife." 

Now  the  boy  arose  and  defiantly  flung  back  his  head  in 
shrill  laughter.  "Your  wife!  Oh,  God  ha'  mercy! 
Your  wife,  and  for  ten  years  left  to  her  own  devices! 
Why,  look  you,  to-day  you  and  your  wife  would  not 
know  each  other  were  you  twain  brought  face  to  face." 

Prince  Edward  said,  "That  is  very  near  the  truth." 
But,  indeed,  it  was  the  absolute  truth,  and  as  concerned 
himself  already  attested. 

"Sire  Edward,"  the  boy  then  said,  "your  wife  has 
wearied  of  this  long  waiting  till  you  chose  to  whistle  for 
her.  Last  summer  the  young  Prince  de  Gatinais  came 
a-wooing — and  he  is  a  handsome  man."  The  page  made 
known  all  which  de  Gatinais  and  KingAlphonso  planned, 
the  words  jostling  as  they  came  in  torrents,  but  so  that 
one  might  understand.  "  I  am  her  page,  my  lord.  I  was 
to  follow  her.  These  fellows  were  to  be  my  escort,  were 
to  ward  off  possible  pursuit.  Cry  haro,  beau  sire!  Cry 

36 


g  nf  tljr   ®? 

haro,  and  lustily,  for  your  wife  in  company  with  six  other 
knaves  is  at  large  between  here  and  Burgos — that  unrea 
sonable  wife  who  grew  dissatisfied  after  a  mere  ten  years 
of  neglect." 

"I  have  been  remiss,"  the  Prince  said,  and  one  huge 
hand  strained  at  his  chin ;  "  yes,  perhaps  I  have  been 
remiss.  Yet  it  had  appeared  to  me—  But  as  it  is,  I 
bid  you  mount,  my  lad!"  he  cried,  in  a  new  voice. 

The  boy  demanded,  "And  to  what  end?" 

"Oy  Dieus,  messire!  have  I  not  slain  your  escort? 
Why,  in  common  reason,  equity  demands  that  I  afford 
you  my  protection  so  far  as  Burgos,  messire,  just  as 
equity  demands  I  on  arrival  slay  de  Gatinais  and  fetch 
back  my  wife  to  England." 

The  page  wrung  exquisite  hands  with  a  gesture  which 
was  but  partially  tinged  with  anguish  and  presently  be 
gan  to  laugh.  Afterward  these  two  rode  southerly,  in 
the  direction  of  Castile. 

For  it  appeared  to  the  intriguing  little  woman  a  di 
verting  jest  that  in  this  fashion  her  husband  should  be 
the  promoter  of  her  evasion.  It  appeared  to  her  more 
diverting  when  in  twro  days'  space  she  had  become  gen 
uinely  fond  of  him.  She  found  him  rather  slowT  of  com 
prehension,  and  \vas  namelessly  humiliated  by  the  dis 
covery  that  not  an  eyelash  of  the  man  was  irritated  by 
his  wife's  decampment;  he  considered,  to  all  appearances, 
that  some  property  of  his  had  been  stolen,  and  he  intend 
ed,  quite  without  passion,  to  repossess  himself  of  it,  after, 
of  course,  punishing  the  thief. 

This  troubled  the  Princess  somewhat ;  and  often,  riding 
by  his  more  stolid  side,  the  girl's  heart  raged  at  memory 
of  the  decade  so  newrly  overpast  which  had  kept  her  al 
ways  dependent  on  the  charity  of  this  or  that  ungracious 
patron — on  any  one  who  would  take  charge  of  her  while 

37 


(EJjttialrg 

the  truant  husband  fought  out  his  endless  squabbles  in 
England.  Slights  enough  she  had  borne  during  the  pe 
riod,  and  squalor,  and  hunger  even.  But  now  at  last 
she  rode  toward  the  dear  southland;  and  presently  she 
would  be  rid  of  this  big  man,  when  he  had  served  her  pur 
pose;  and  afterward  she  meant  to  wheedle  Alphonso,  just 
as  she  had  always  done,  and  later  still  she  and  Etienne 
would  be  very  happy;  and,  in  fine,  to-morrow  was  to  be 
a  new  day. 

So  these  two  rode  ever  southward,  and  always  Prince 
Edward  found  this  new  page  of  his— this  Miguel  de  Rueda 
—a  jolly  lad,  who  whistled  and  sang  inapposite  snatches 
of  balladry,  without  any  formal  ending  or  beginning,  des 
canting  always  with  the  delicate  irrelevancy  of  a  bird- 
trill. 

Sang  Miguel  de  Rueda: 

''  Lord  Love,  that  leads  me  day  by  day 
Through  many  a  screened  and  scented  way, 

Finds  to  assuage  my  thirst 
No  love  that  may  the  old  love  slay, 
None  sweeter  than  the  first. 

"  Ah,  heart  of  mine,  that  beats  so  fast 
As  this  or  that  fair  maid  trips  past, 

Once  and  with  lesser  stir 
We  spied  the  heart' s-des ire,  at  last, 
And  turned,  and  followed  her. 

''  For  Love  had  come  that  in  the  spring 
When  all  things  woke  to  blossoming 

Was  as  a  child  that  came 
Laughing,  and  filled  with  wondering, 
Nor  knowing  his  own  name — " 
38 


"And  still  I  would  prefer  to  think,"  the  big  man  in 
terrupted,  heavily,  "that  Sicily  is  not  the  only  allure. 
I  would  prefer  to  think  my  wife  so  beautiful—  And  yet, 
as  I  remember  her,  she  was  nothing  extraordinary." 

The  page  a  little  tartly  said  that  people  might  forget  a 
deal  within  a  decade. 

For  the  Prince  had  quickly  fathomed  the  meaning  of 
the  scheme  hatched  in  Castile.  "When  Manfred  is 
driven  out  of  Sicily  they  will  give  the  throne  to  de  Ga- 
tinais.  He  intends  to  get  both  a  kingdom  and  a  hand 
some  wife  by  this  neat  affair.  And  in  reason  England 
must  support  my  uncle  against  El  Sabio.  Why,  my  lad, 
I  ride  southward  to  prevent  a  war  that  would  convulse 
half  Europe." 

"  You  ride  southward  in  the  attempt  to  rob  a  miserable 
woman  of  her  sole  chance  of  happiness,"  Miguel  de  Rueda 
estimated. 

"That  is  undeniable,  if  she  loves  this  thrifty  Prince,  as 
indeed  I  do  not  question  my  wife  does.  Yet  is  our  hap 
piness  here  a  trivial  matter,  whereas  war  is  a  great  dis 
aster.  You  have  not  seen — as  I  have  done,  my  little 
Miguel — a  man  viewing  his  death-wound  with  a  face  of 
stupid  wonder? — a  man  about  to  die  in  his  lord's  quarrel 
and  understanding  never  a  word  of  it?  Or  a  woman, 
say — a  woman's  twisted  and  naked  body,  the  breasts  yet 
horribly  heaving,  in  the  red  ashes  of  some  village  ?  or  the 
already  dripping  hoofs  which  will  presently  crush  this 
body?  Well,  it  is  to  prevent  a  many  such  spectacles 
hereabout  that  I  ride  southward." 

Miguel  de  Rueda  shuddered.  But,  "She  has  her  right 
to  happiness,"  the  page  stubbornly  said. 

"Not  so,"  the  Prince  retorted;  "since  it  hath  pleased 
the  Emperor  of  Heaven  to  appoint  us  twain  to  lofty  sta 
tions,  to  intrust  to  us  the  five  talents  of  the  parable; 

39 


(Eljtnairg 

whence  is  our  debt  to  Him,  being  fivefold,  so  much  the 
greater  than  that  of  common  persons.  And  therefore 
the  more  is  it  our  sole  right,  being  fivefold,  to  serve  God 
without  faltering,  and  therefore  is  our  happiness,  or 
our  unhappiness,  the  more  an  inconsiderable  matter. 
For  as  I  have  read  in  the  Annals  of  the  Romans —  He 
launched  upon  the  story  of  King  Pompey  and  his  daugh 
ter,  whom  a  certain  duke  regarded  with  impure  and  im 
proper  emotions.  "My  little  Miguel,  that  ancient  king 
is  our  Heavenly  Father,  that  only  daughter  is  the  rational 
soul  of  us,  which  is  here  delivered  for  protection  to  five 
soldiers — that  is,  to  the  five  senses — to  preserve  it  from  the 
devil,  the  world,  and  the  flesh.  But,  alas!  the  too-credu 
lous  soul,  desirous  of  gazing  upon  the  gaudy  vapors  of 
this  world— 

"  You  whine  like  a  canting  friar,"  the  page  complained ; 
"  and  I  can  assure  you  that  the  Lady  Ellinor  was  prompted 
rather  than  hindered  by  her  God-given  faculties  of  sight 
and  hearing  and  so  on  when  she  fell  in  love  with  de 
Gatinais.  Of  you  two,  he  is,  beyond  any  question,  the 
handsomer  and  the  more  intelligent  man,  and  it  was 
God  who  bestowed  on  her  sufficient  wit  to  perceive  the 
fact.  And  wrhat  am  I  to  deduce  from  this?" 

The  Prince  reflected.  At  last  he  said:  "I  have  also 
read  in  these  same  Gestes  how  Seneca  mentions  that  in 
poisoned  bodies,  on  account  of  the  malignancy  and  the 
coldness  of  the  poison,  no  worm  will  engender;  but  if  the 
body  be  smitten  by  lightning,  in  a  few  days  the  carcass 
will  abound  with  vermin.  My  little  Miguel,  both  men  and 
women  are  at  birth  empoisoned  by  sin,  and  then  they 
produce  no  worm — that  is,  no  virtue;  but  struck  with 
lightning — that  is,  by  the  grace  of  God — they  are  aston 
ishingly  fruitful  in  good  works." 

The  page  began  to  laugh.  "You  are  hopelessly  ab- 

40 


0f  tit?  ®? 

surd,  my  Prince,  though  you  will  never  know  it — and  I 
hate  you  a  little — and  I  envy  you  a  great  deal." 

"Nay,"  Prince  Edward  said,  in  misapprehension,  for 
the  man  was  never  quick-witted—  •"  nay,  it  is  not  for  my 
own  happiness  that  I  ride  southward." 

The  page  then  said,  "  What  is  her  name?" 

And  Prince  Edward  answered,  very  fondly,  "Hawise." 

"Her,  too,  I  hate,"  said  Miguel  de  Rueda;  "and  I 
think  that  the  holy  angels  alone  know  how  profoundly  I 
envy  her." 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  they  neared  Ruffec, 
and  at  the  ford  found  three  brigands  ready,  two  of  whom 
the  Prince  slew,  and  the  other  (led. 

Next  night  they  supped  at  Manneville,  and  sat  after 
ward  in  the  little  square,  tree-chequered,  that  lay  before 
their  inn.  Miguel  had  procured  a  lute  from  the  innkeep 
er,  and  strummed  idly  as  these  twro  debated  together  of 
great  matters;  about  them  was  an  immeasurable  twilight, 
moonless,  but  tempered  by  many  stars,  and  everywhere 
an  agreeable  conference  of  leaves. 

"Listen,  my  Prince,"  the  boy  said  more  lately:  "here 
is  one  view  of  the  affair."  And  he  began  to  chant,  with 
out  rhyming,  without  raising  his  voice  above  the  pitch 
of  talk,  what  time  the  lute  monotonously  sobbed  beneath 
his  fingers. 

Sang  Miguel : 

".4  little  while  and  Irus  and  Mcnephtah  arc  at  sorry 
unison,  and  Guenevere  is  but  a  skull.  Multitudinously 
we  tread  toward  oblivion,  as  ants  hasten  toward  sugar,  and 
presently  Time  cometh  with  his  broom.  Multitudinously 
we  tread  a  dusty  road  toward  oblivion;  but  yonder  the  sun 
shines  upon  a  grass-plot,  converting  it  into  an  emerald;  and 
I  am  aweary  of  the  trodden  path. 

41 


"  Vine-crowned  is  she  that  guards  the  grasses  yonder,  and 
her  breasts  are  naked.  'Vanity  of  Vanities!'  saith  the  be 
loved.  But  she  whom  I  love  seems  very  far  away  to-night, 
though  I  might  be  with  her  if  I  would.  And  she  may  not 
aid  me  now,  for  not  even  love  is  all- powerful.  She  is  fairest 
of  created  women,  and  very  wise,  but  she  may  never  under 
stand  that  at  any  time  one  grows  aweary  of  the  trodden  path. 

"  Yet  though  she  cannot  understand,  this  woman  who 
has  known  me  to  the  marrow,  I  must  obey  her  laudable  be 
hests  and  serve  her  blindly.  At  sight  of  her  my  love  closes 
over  my  heart  like  a  flood,  so  that  I  am  speechless  and  glory 
in  my  impotence,  as  one  who  stands  at  last  before  the  kindly 
face  of  God.  For  her  sake  I  have  striven,  with  a  good  en 
deavor,  to  my  tiny  uttermost.  Pardie,  I  am  not  Priam  at 
the  head  of  his  army!  A  little  while  and  I  will  repent; 
to-night  I  cannot  but  remember  that  there  are  women  whose 
lips  are  of  a  livelier  tint,  that  life  is  short  at  best,  that  wine 
is  a  goodly  thing,  and  that  I  am  aweary  of  the  trodden  path. 

'She  is  very  far  from  me  to-night.  Yonder  in  the  Hor- 
selberg  they  exult  and  make  sweet  songs,  songs  which  are 
sweeter,  immeasurably  sweeter,  than  this  song  of  mine,  but 
in  the  trodden  path  I  falter,  for  I  am  tired,  tired  in  every 
fbre  oj  me,  and  I  am  aweary  of  the  trodden  path." 

Followed  a  silence.  "Ignorance  spoke  there,"  the 
Prince  said.  "It  is  the  song  of  a  woman,  or  else  of  a 
boy  who  is  very  young.  Give  me  the  lute,  my  little 
Miguel."  And  presently  he,  too,  sang. 

Sang  the  Prince: 

"7  was  in  a  path,  and  I  trod  toward  the  citadel  of  the 
land's  Seigneur,  and  on  cither  side  were  pleasant  and  for 
bidden  meadows,  having  various  names.  And  one  trod 
with  me  who  babbled  of  the  brooding  mountains  and  of  the 

42 


nf  ilj?   2J?n00n 

low-lying  and  adjacent  clouds;  of  the  west  wind  and  of  the 
budding  fruit-trees;  and  he  debated  the  significance  of  these 
things,  and  he  went  astray  to  gather  violets,  while  I  walked 
in  the  trodden  path. 

"  He  babbled  of  genial  wine  and  of  the  alert  lips  of  women, 
of  swinging  censers  and  of  pale-mouthed  priests,  and  his 
heart  was  troubled  by  a  world  profuse  in  beauty.  And  he 
leaped  a  stile  to  share  his  allotted  provision  with  a  dying  dog, 
and  afterward,  being  hungry,  a  wall  to  pilfer  apples,  what 
while  I  walked  in  the  trodden  path. 

"He  babbled  of  Autumn  s  bankruptcy  and  of  the  age-long 
lying  promises  of  Spring;  and  of  his  own  desire  to  be  at 
rest;  and  of  running  waters  and  of  decaying  leaves.  He 
babbled  of  the  far-off  stars;  and  he  debated  whether  they 
were  the  eyes  of  God  or  gases  which  burned,  and  he  demon 
strated,  very  clearly,  that  neither  existed;  and  at  times  he 
stumbled  as  he  stared  about  him  and  munched  his  apples, 
so  that  he  was  all  bemired,  but  I  walked  in  the  trodden  path. 

"  And  the  path  led  to  the  gateway  of  a  citadel,  and  through 
the  gateway.  'Let  us  not  enter,1  he  said,  'for  the  citadel  is 
vacant,  and,  moreover,  I  am  in  profound  terror,  and,  be 
sides,  as  yet  I  have  not  eaten  all  my  apples.'  And  he  wept 
aloud,  but  I  was  not  afraid,  for  I  had  walked  in  the  trodden 
path." 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  "  You  paint  a  dreary 
world,  my  Prince." 

"Nay,  my  little  Miguel,  I  do  but  paint  the  world  as 
the  Eternal  Father  made  it.  The  laws  of  the  place  are 
written  large,  so  that  all  may  read  them;  and  we  know 
that  every  path,  whether  it  be  my  trodden  one  or  some 
byway  through  your  gayer  meadows,  yet  leads  in  the 
end  to  God.  We  have  our  choice — or  to  come  to  Him 
as  a  laborer  comes  at  evening  for  the  day's  wages  fairly 

43 


Glljttialrg 

earned,  or  to  come  as  some  roisterer  haled  before  the 
magistrate." 

"  I  consider  you  to  be  in  the  right,"  the  boy  said,  after 
a  lengthy  interval,  "although  I  decline — and  emphati 
cally — to  believe  you." 

The  Prince  laughed.  "There  spoke  Youth,"  he  said, 
and  he  sighed  as  though  he  were  a  patriarch ;  "but  we  have 
sung,  we  two,  the  Eternal  Tenson  of  God's  will  and  of 
man's  desires.  And  I  claim  the  prize,  my  little  Miguel." 

Suddenly  the  page  kissed  one  huge  hand.  "  You  have 
conquered,  my  very  dull  and  very  glorious  Prince.  Con 
cerning  that  Hawise—  '  but  Miguel  de  Rtieda  choked. 
"Oil,  I  understand!  in  part  I  understand!"  the  page 
wailed,  and  now  it  was  Prince  Edward  who  comforted 
Miguel  de  Rued  a. 

For  the  Prince  laid  one  hand  upon  his  page's  hair,  and 
smiled  in  the  darkness  to  note  how  soft  it  was,  since  the 
man  was  less  a  fool  than  at  first  view  you  might  have 
taken  him  to  be,  and  said: 

"One  must  play  the  game,  my  lad.  We  are  no  little 
people,  she  and  I,  the  children  of  many  kings,  of  God's 
regents  here  on  earth;  and  it  was  never  reasonable,  my 
Miguel,  that  gentlefolk  should  cog  at  dice." 

The  same  night  Miguel  de  Ruecla  sobbed  through  the 
prayer  which  Saint  Theophilus  made  long  ago  to  the 
Mother  of  God  : 

"  Dame,   jc  n'ose, 
Flors  (T  aiglcntier  et  Us  ct  rose, 
En  qui  li  filz  Diex  sc  repose,'" 

and  so  on.  Or,  in  other  wording:  "Hearken,  O  gracious 
Lady!  thou  that  art  more  fair  than  any  flower  of  the  eg 
lantine,  more  comely  than  the  blossoming  of  the  rose  or 

44 


of  the  lily!  them  to  whom  was  confided  the  very  Sou  of 
God!  Hearken,  for  I  am  afraid!  afford  counsel  to  me 
that  am  ensnared  by  Satan  and  know  not  what  to  do! 
Never  will  I  make  an  end  of  praying.  O  Virgin  debonnaire! 
0  honored  Lady!  Thou  that  wast  once  a  woman — !" 

You  would  have  said  the  boy  was  dying;  and  in  sober 
verity  a  deal  cf  Miguel  de  Ruecla  died  upon  this  night  of 
clearer  vision. 

Yet  he  sang  the  next  day  as  these  two  rode  southward, 
although  half  as  in  defiance. 

Sang  Miguel: 

"  And  still,  whateer  tJic  years  may  send- 
Though  Time  be  proven  a  fickle  friend, 

And  Love  be  shown  a  liar — 
I  must  adore  until  the  end 

That  primal  heart's  desire. 

"  /  may  not  hear  men  speak  of  her 
Unmoved,  and  vagrant  pulses  stir 

Whene'er  she  passes  by, 
And  I  again  her  worshipper 
Must  serve  her  till  I  die. 

"  Not  she  that  is  doth  pass,  but  she 
That  Time  hath  riven  away  from  me 

And  in  the  darkness  set— 
The  maid  that  I  may  never  see, 
Or  gain,  or  e'er  forget." 

It  was  on  the  following  day,  near  Bazas,  these  two  en 
countered  Adam  de  Gourdon,  a  Provcngal  knight,  with 
whom  the  Prince  fought  for  a  long  while,  without  either 
contestant  giving  way;  and  in  consequence  a  rendezvous 

45 


(Eljtttalrg 

was  fixed  for  the  November  of  that  year,  and  afterward 
the  Prince  and  de  Gourdon  parted,  highly  pleased  with 
each  other. 

Thus  the  Prince  and  his  attendant  came,  in  late  Sep 
tember,  to  Mauleon,  on  the  Castilian  frontier,  and  dined 
there  at  the  Fir  Cone,  Three  or  four  lackeys  were  about 
—some  exalted  person's  retinue?  Prince  Edward  haz 
arded  to  the  swart  little  landlord  as  the  Prince  and 
Miguel  lingered  over  the  remnants  of  their  meal. 

Yes,  the  fellow  informed  them:  the  Prince  de  Gatinais 
had  lodged  there  for  a  whole  week,  watching  the  north 
road,  as  circumspect  of  all  passage  as  a  cat  over  a  mouse- 
hole.  Eh,  monseigneur  expected  some  one,  doubtless — 
a  lady,  it  might  be — the  gentlefolk  had  their  escapades 
like  every  one  else.  The  innkeeper  babbled  vaguely,  for  on 
a  sudden  he  was  very  much  afraid  of  his  gigantic  patron. 

"You  will  show  me  to  his  room,"  Prince  Edward  said, 
with  a  politeness  that  was  ingratiating. 

The  host  shuddered  and  obeyed. 

Miguel  de  Rueda,  left  alone,  sat  quite  silent,  his  finger 
tips  drumming  upon  the  table.  He  rose  suddenly  and 
flung  back  his  shoulders,  all  resolution  to  the  tiny  heels. 
On  the  stairway  he  passed  the  black  little  landlord. 

"I  think,"  the  little  landlord  considered,  "that  Saint 
Michael  must  have  been  of  similar  appearance  when  he 
went  to  meet  the  Evil  One.  Ho,  messire,  will  there  be 
bloodshed?" 

But  Miguel  de  Rueda  had  passed  to  the  room  above. 
The  door  was  ajar.  He  paused  there. 

De  Gatinais  had  risen  from  his  dinner  and  stood  facing 
the  door.  He,  too,  was  a  blond  man  and  the  comeliest 
of  his  day.  And  at  sight  of  him  awoke  in  the  woman's 
heart  all  of  the  old  tenderness;  handsome  and  brave  and 
witty  she  knew  him  to  be,  past  reason,  as  indeed  the  whole 

46 


world  knew  him  to  be  distinguished  by  every  namable 
grace;  and  the  innate  weakness  of  de  Gatinais,  which 
she  alone  suspected,  made  him  now  seem  doubly  dear. 
Fiercely  she  wanted  to  shield  him,  less  from  carnal  in 
jury  than  from  that  self-degradation  she  cloudily  appre 
hended  to  be  at  hand;  the  test  was  come,  and  Etienne 
would  fail.  Thus  much  she  knew  with  a  sick,  illimitable 
surety,  and  she  loved  de  Gatinais  with  a  passion  which 
dwarfed  comprehension. 

"O  Madame  the  Virgin!"  prayed  Miguel  de  Rueda, 
"thou  that  wast  once  a  woman,  even  as  I  am  now  a 
woman!  grant  that  the  man  may  slay  him  quickly!  grant 
that  he  may  slay  Etienne  very  quickly,  honored  Lady, 
so  that  my  Etienne  may  die  unshamed!" 

"I  must  question,  messire,"  de  Gatinais  was  saying, 
"  whether  you  have  been  well  inspired.  Yes,  quite  frank 
ly,  I  do  await  the  arrival  of  her  who  is  your  nominal  wife ; 
and  your  intervention  at  this  late  stage,  I  take  it,  can 
have  no  outcome  save  to  render  you  absurd.  Nay, 
rather  be  advised  by  me,  messire — 

Prince  Edward  said,  "I  am  not  here  to  talk." 

"  For,  messire,  I  grant  you  that  in  ordinary  disputa 
tion  the  cutting  of  one  gentleman's  throat  by  another 
gentleman  is  well  enough,  since  the  argument  is  unan 
swerable.  Yet  in  this  case  we  have  each  of  us  too  much 
to  live  for;  you  to  govern  your  reconquered  England,  and 
I — you  perceive  that  I  am  candid — to  achieve  in  turn  the 
kingship  of  another  realm.  And  to  secure  this,  possession 
of  the  Lady  Ellinor  is  to  me  essential;  to  you  she  is 
nothing." 

"She  is  a  woman  whom  I  have  deeply  wronged," 
Prince  Edward  said,  "and  to  whom,  God  willing,  I  mean 
to  make  atonement.  Ten  years  ago  they  wedded  us, 
willy-nilly,  to  avert  the  impending  war  'twixt  Spain  and 

47 


England;  to-day  El  Sabio  intends  to  purchase  all  Ger 
many,  with  her  body  as  the  price,  you  to  get  Sicily  as  her 
husband.  Mort  de  Dieu!  is  a  woman  thus  to  be  bought 
and  sold  like  hog's-flesh!  We  have  other  and  cleaner 
customs,  we  of  England." 

"Eh,  and  who  purchased  the  woman  first?"  de  Gati- 
nais  spat  at  him,  and  viciously,  for  the  Frenchman  now 
saw  his  air-castle  shaken  to  the  corner-stone. 

"They  wedded  me  to  the  child  in  order  a  great  war 
might  be  averted.  I  acquiesced,  since  it  appeared  prefer 
able  that  two  people  suffer  inconvenience  rather  than 
many  thousands  be  slain.  And  still  this  is  my  view  of  the 
matter.  Yet  afterward  I  failed  her.  Love  had  no  clause 
in  our  agreement ;  but  I  owed  her  more  protection  than 
I  have  afforded.  England  has  long  been  no  place  for 
women.  I  thought  she  would  comprehend  that  much. 
But  I  know  very  little  of  women.  Battle  and  death  are 
more  wholesome  companions,  I  now  perceive,  than  such 
folk  as  you  and  Alphonso.  Woman  is  the  weaker  vessel 
—the  negligence  was  mine — I  may  not  blame  her."  The 
big  and  simple  man  was  in  an  agony  of  repentance. 

On  a  sudden  he  strode  forward,  his  sword  now  shifted 
to  his  left  hand  and  his  right  hand  outstretched.  "One 
and  all,  we  are  but  weaklings  in  the  net  of  circumstance. 
Shall  one  herring,  then,  blame  his  fellow  if  his  fellow  jostle 
him  ?  We  walk  as  in  a  mist  of  error,  and  Belial  is  fertile 
in  allurements;  yet  always  it  is  granted  us  to  behold  that 
sin  is  sin.  I  have  perhaps  sinned  through  anger,  Messire 
de  Gatinais,  more  deeply  than  you  have  planned  to  sin 
through  luxury  and  through  ambition.  Let  us  then  cry 
quits,  Messire  de  Gatinais,  and  afterward  part  in  peace, 
and  in  common  repentance,  if  you  so  elect." 

"And  yield  you  Ellinor?"  de  Gatinais  said.  "Nay, 
messire,  1  reply  to  you  with  Arnaud  de  Marveil,  that 

48 


marvellous  singer  of  eld,  'They  may  bear  her  from  my 
presence,  but  they  can  never  untie  the  knot  which  unites 
my  heart  to  her;  for  that  heart,  so  tender  and  so  constant, 
God  alone  divides  with  my  lady,  and  the  portion  which 
God  possesses  He  holds  but  as  a  part  of  her  domain,  and 
as  her  vassal.' ' 

"This  is  blasphemy,"  Prince  Edward  now  retorted, 
"and  for  such  observations  alone  you  merit  death.  Will 
you  always  talk  and  talk  and  talk?  I  perceive  that  the 
devil  is  far  more  subtle  than  you,  messire,  and  leads  you 
like  a  pig  with  a  ring  in  his  nose  toward  gross  iniquity. 
Messire,  I  tell  you  that  for  your  soul's  health  I  doubly- 
mean  to  kill  you  now.  So  let  us  make  an  end  of  this." 

De  Gatinais  turned  and  took  up  his  sword.  "Since 
you  will  have  it,"  he  rather  regretfully  said;  "yet  I  re 
iterate  that  you  play  an  absurd  part.  Your  wife  has 
deserted  you,  has  fled  in  abhorrence  of  you.  For  three 
weeks  she  has  been  tramping  God  knows  whither  or  in 
what  company- 
He  was  here  interrupted.  "What  the  Lady  Ellinor 
has  done,"  Prince  Edward  crisply  said,  "wras  at  my  re 
quest.  We  were  wedded  at  Burgos;  it  was  most  natural 
that  wre  should  desire  our  reunion  to  take  place  at  Burgos ; 
and  she  came  to  Burgos  with  an  escort  which  I  provided." 

De  Gatinais  sneered.  "  So  that  is  the  tale  you  will  de 
liver  to  the  world?" 

"When  I  have  slain  you,"  the  Prince  said,  "yes.  Yes, 
since  she  is  a  woman,  and  woman  is  the  weaker  vessel." 

"The  reservation  is  wise.  For  once  I  am  dead,  Messire 
Edward,  there  will  be  none  to  know  that  you  risk  all  for 
a  drained  goblet,  for  an  orange  already  squeezed — quite 
dry,  messire." 

"Face  of  God!"  the  Prince  said. 

But  de  Gatinais  flung  back  both  arms  in  a  great  gesture, 

49 


(ttljttialrg 

so  that  he  knocked  a  flask  of  claret  from  the  table  at  his 
rear.  "  I  am  candid,  my  Prince.  I  would  not  see  any 
brave  gentleman  slain  in  a  cause  so  foolish.  And  in  con 
sequence  I  kiss  and  tell.  In  effect,  I  was  eloquent,  I  was 
magnificent — so  that  in  the  end  her  reserve  was  shattered 
like  the  wooden  flask  yonder  at  our  feet.  Is  it  worth  while, 
think  you,  that  our  blood  flow  like  this  flagon's  contents  ?" 

"Liar!"  Prince  Edward  said,  very  softly.  <(O  hideous 
liar!  Already  your  eyes  shift!"  He  drew  near  and 
struck  the  Frenchman.  "Talk  and  talk  and  talk!  and 
lying  talk!  I  am  ashamed  while  I  share  the  world  with 
a  thing  so  base  as  you." 

De  Gatinais  hurled  upon  him,  cursing,  sobbing  in  an 
abandoned  fury.  In  an  instant  the  place  resounded  like 
a  smithy,  for  there  were  no  better  swordsmen  living  than 
these  two.  The  eavesdropper  could  see  nothing  clearly. 
Round  and  round  they  veered  in  a  whirl  of  turmoil. 
Presently  Prince  Edward  trod  upon  the  broken  flask, 
smashing  it.  His  foot  slipped  in  the  spilth  of  wine,  and 
the  huge  body  went  down  like  an  oak,  the  head  of  it 
striking  one  leg  of  the  table. 

"A  candle!"  de  Gatinais  cried,  and  he  panted  now- 
"a  hundred  candles  to  the  Virgin  of  Beaujolais!"     He 
shortened  his  sword  to  stab  the  Prince  of  England. 

And  now  the  eavesdropper  understood.  She  flung 
open  the  door  and  fell  upon  Prince  Edward,  embracing 
him.  The  sword  dug  deep  into  her  shoulder,  so  that  she 
shrieked  once  with  the  cold  pain  of  this  wound.  Then 
she  rose,  all  ashen. 

"Liar!"  she  said.  "Oh,  I  am  shamed  while  I  share 
the  world  with  a  thing  so  base  as  you!" 

In  silence  de  Gatinais  regarded  her.  There  was  a 
long  interval  before  he  said,  "Ellinor!"  and  then  again, 
"Ellinor!"  like  a  man  bewildered. 


IN      AN      INSTANT     THE      PLACE      RESOUNDED      LIKE      A       SMITHY 


nf  tlje   5t 

"/  was  eloquent,  I  was  magnificent,"  she  said,  "so  that 
in  the  end  her  reserve  was  shattered!  Certainly,  messire, 
it  is  not  your  death  which  I  desire,  since  a  man  dies  so 
very,  very  quickly.  I  desire  for  you — I  know  not  what 
I  desire  for  you!"  the  girl  wailed. 

"  You  desire  that  I  should  endure  this  present  moment," 
de  Gatinais  said ;  "  for  as  God  reigns,  I  love  you,  and  now 
am  I  shamed  past  death." 

She  said:  "And  I,  too,  loved  you.  It  is  strange  to 
think  of  that." 

"  I  was  afraid.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  been  afraid 
before.  But  I  was  afraid  of  this  terrible  and  fair  and 
righteous  man.  I  saw  all  hope  of  you  vanish,  all  hope 
of  Sicily — in  effect,  I  lied  as  a  cornered  beast  spits  out 
his  venom,"  de  Gatinais  said. 

"I  know,"  she  answered.  "Give  me  water,  Etienne." 
She  washed  and  bound  the  Prince's  head  with  a  vinegar- 
soaked  napkin.  Ellinor  sat  upon  the  floor,  the  big  man's 
head  upon  her  knee.  "He  will  not  die  of  this,  for  he  is 
of  strong  person.  Look  you,  Messire  de  Gatinais,  you 
and  I  are  not.  We  are  so  fashioned  that  we  can  enjoy 
only  the  pleasant  things  of  life.  But  this  man  can  en 
joy — enjoy,  mark  you — the  commission  of  any  act,  how 
ever  distasteful,  if  he  think  it  to  be  his  duty.  There  is 
the  difference.  I  cannot  fathom  him.  But  it  is  now 
necessary  that  I  become  all  which  he  loves — since  he 
loves  it — and  that  I  be  in  thought  and  deed  all  which 
he  desires.  For  I  have  heard  the  Tenson  through." 

"You  love  him!"  said  de  Gatinais. 

She  glanced  upward  with  a  pitiable  smile.  "Nay,  it 
is  you  that  I  love,  my  Etienne.  You  cannot  understand 
— can  you? — how  at  this  very  moment  every  fibre  of  me 
—heart,  soul,  and  body — may  be  longing  just  to  comfort 
you  and  to  give  you  all  which  you  desire,  my  Etienne, 


Qlljttialrg 

and  to  make  you  happy,  my  handsome  Etienne,  at  how 
ever  dear  a  cost.  No;  you  will  never  understand  that. 
And  since  you  may  not  understand,  I  merely  bid  you  go 
and  leave  me  with  my  husband." 

And  then  there  fell  between  these  two  an  infinite  silence. 

"Listen,"  de  Gatinais  said;  "grant  me  some  little 
credit  for  what  I  do.  You  are  alone;  the  man  is  power 
less.  My  fellows  are  within  call.  A  word  secures  the 
Prince's  death ;  a  word  gets  me  you  and  Sicily.  And  I  do 
not  speak  that  word,  for  you  are  my  lady  as  well  as  his." 

But  there  was  no  mercy  in  the  girl,  no  more  for  him 
than  for  herself.  The  big  head  lay  upon  her  breast  what 
time  she  caressed  the  gross  hair  of  it  ever  so  lightly. 
"These  are  tinsel  oaths,"  she  crooned,  as  rapt  with  in 
curious  content;  "these  are  but  the  protestations  of  a 
jongleur.  A  word  get  you  my  body  ?  A  word  get  you, 
in  effect,  all  which  you  arc  capable  of  desiring?  Then 
wrhy  do  you  not  speak  that  word?" 

De  Gatinais  raised  clenched  hands.  "I  am  shamed," 
he  said;  and  more  lately,  "It  is  just." 

He  left  the  room  and  presently  rode  away  with  his 
men.  I  say  that  he  had  done  a  knightly  deed,  but  she 
thought  little  of  it,  never  raised  her  head  as  the  troop 
clattered  from  Mauleon,  with  a  lessening  beat  which 
lapsed  now  into  the  blunders  of  an  aging  ily  who  dod 
dered  about  the  pane  yonder. 

She  sat  thus  for  a  long  period,  her  meditations  adrift  in 
the  future;  and  that  which  she  forcread  left  her  nor  all 
sorry  nor  profoundly  glad,  for  living  seemed  by  this, 
though  scarcely  the  merry  and  colorful  business  which  she 
had  esteemed  it,  yet  immeasurably  the  more  worth  wThile. 


THE    END    OF    THE    SECOND    NOVEL 


Ill 
g>torg  nf  tl??  Sal-Strap 


"  Leixant  a  part  le  stil  dels  trobados, 
Dos  grans  dezigs  han  combatut  ma  pensa, 
Mas  lo  voler  vers  un  seguir  dispensa; 
Yo  Vvos  publich,  amar  dretament  vos." 


THE  THIRD   NOVEL. MEREGRETT   OF    FRANCE,    THINKING 

TO  PRESERVE  A  HOODWINKED  GENTLEMAN,  ANNOYS  A 
SPIDER;  AND  BY  THE  GRACE  OF  DESTINY  THE  WEB  OF  THAT 
CUNNING  INSECT  ENTRAPS  A  BUTTERFLY,  A  WASP,  AND 
THEN  A  GOD;  WHO  SHATTERS  IT. 


of 


'N  the  year  of  grace  1298,  a  little  before 
Candlemas  (thus  Nicolas  begins),  came 
letters  to  the  first  King  Edward  of  Eng 
land  from  his  kinsman  and  ambassador 
to  France,  Earl  Edmund  of  Lancaster. 
It  was  perfectly  apparent,  the  Earl 
wrote,  that  the  French  King  meant  to  surrender  to  the 
Earl's  lord  and  brother  neither  the  duchy  of  Guienne 
nor  the  Lady  Blanch. 

The  courier  found  Sire  Edward  at  Ipswich,  midway  in 
celebration  of  his  daughter's  marriage  to  the  Count  of 
Holland.  The  King  read  the  letters  through  and  began 
to  laugh;  and  presently  broke  into  a  rage  such  as  was 
possible  to  the  demon-tainted  blood  of  Anjou.  So  that 
next  day  the  keeper  of  the  privy  purse  entered  upon 
the  household-books  a  considerable  sum  "to  make  good 
a  large  ruby  and  an  emerald  lost  out  of  his  coronet 
when  the  King's  Grace  was  pleased  to  throw  it  into 
the  fire";  and  upon  the  same  day  the  King  recalled 
Lancaster,  and  more  lately  despatched  yet  another  em 
bassy  into  France  to  treat  about  Sire  Edward's  second 
marriage.  This  last  embassy  was  headed  by  the  Earl  of 
Aquitaine. 

The  Earl  got  audience  of  the  French  King  at  Mezelais. 
Walking  alone  came  this  Earl  of  Aquitaine,  with  a  large 

55 


(Cljtualry 

retinue,  into  the  hall  where  the  barons  of  France  stood 
according  to  their  rank;  in  russet  were  the  big  Earl  and 
his  attendants,  but  upon  the  scarlets  and  purples  of  the 
French  lords  many  jewels  shone;  as  through  a  corridor 
of  gayly  painted  sunlit  glass  came  the  grave  Earl  to  the 
dai's  where  sat  King  Philippe. 

The  King  had  risen  at  close  sight  of  the  new  envoy, 
and  had  gulped  once  or  twice,  and  without  speaking,  hur 
riedly  waved  his  lords  out  of  ear-shot.  His  perturbation 
was  very  extraordinary. 

"Fair  cousin,"  the  Earl  now  said,  without  any  prelude, 
"  four  years  ago  I  was  affianced  to  your  sister,  Dame 
Blanch.  You  stipulated  that  Gascony  be  given  up  to 
you  in  guaranty,  as  a  settlement  on  any  children  I  might 
have  by  that  incomparable  lady.  I  assented,  and  yield 
ed  you  the  province,  upon  the  understanding,  sworn  to 
according  to  the  faith  of  loyal  kings,  that  within  forty 
days  you  assign  to  me  its  seignory  as  your  vassal.  And 
I  have  had  of  you  since  then  neither  the  enfeoffment  nor 
the  lady,  but  only  excuses,  Sire  Philippe." 

With  eloquence  the  Frenchman  touched  upon  the 
emergencies  to  which  the  public  weal  so  often  drives  men 
of  high  station,  and  upon  his  private  grief  over  the  ne 
cessity — unavoidable,  alas! — of  returning  a  hard  answer 
before  the  council;  and  become  so  voluble  that  Sire  Ed 
ward  merely  laughed,  in  that  big-kinged  and  discon 
certing  way  of  his,  and  afterward  lodged  for  a  week  at 
Mezelais,  nominally  passing  by  his  lesser  title  of  Earl 
of  Aquitaine,  and  as  his  own  ambassador. 

And  negotiations  became  more  swift  of  foot,  since  a 
man  serves  himself  with  zeal.  In  addition,  the  French 
lords  could  make  nothing  of  a  politician  so  thick-witted 
that  he  replied  to  every  consideration  of  expediency 
with  a  parrot-like  reiteration  of  the  trivial  circumstance 


01  It  ?    ^In  rg   flf   t  It  P  U  a  t  31  r  a  p 

that  already  the  bargain  \vas  signal  and  sworn  to;  and, 
in  consequence,  while  daily  they  fumed  over  his  stupid 
ity,  daily  he  gained  his  point.  During  this  period  he 
was,  upon  one  pretext  or  another,  very  largely  in  the 
company  of  his  affianced  wife.  Dame  Blanch. 

This  lady,  I  must  tell  you,  wras  the  handsomest  of  her 
day;  there  could  nowliere  be  found  a  creature  more  agree 
able  to  every  sense;  and  she  compelled  the  eye,  it  is  re 
corded,  not  gently  but  in  a  superb  fashion.  And  Sire 
Edward,  who,  till  this,  had  loved  her  merely  by  report, 
and,  in  accordance  with  the  high  custom  of  old,  through 
many  perusals  of  her  portrait,  no\v  appeared  besotted. 
He  was  an  aging  man,  near  sixty;  huge  and  fair  he  was, 
with  a  crisp  beard,  and  stahvart  as  a  towrer;  and  the 
better-read  at  Mezelais  likened  the  couple  to  Sieur  Her 
cules  at  the  feet  of  Queen  Omphale  when  they  saw  the 
two  so  much  together. 

The  ensuing  Wednesday  the  court  hunted  and  slewr  a 
stag  of  ten  in  the  woods  of  Ermenoueil,  which  stand 
thick  about  the  chateau;  and  upon  that  day  these  two 
had  dined  at  Rigon  the  forester's  hut,  in  company  with 
Dame  Meregrett,  the  French  King's  younger  sister.  She 
sat  a  little  apart  from  the  betrothed,  and  stared  through 
the  hut's  one  wrindowT.  We  know  nowadays  it  was  not 
merely  the  trees  she  considered. 

Dame  Blanch,  it  seemed,  was  undisposed  to  mirth. 
"For  wre  have  slain  the  stag,  bean  sire,"  she  said,  "and 
have  made  of  his  death  a  brave  diversion.  To-day  wTe 
have  had  our  sport  of  death, — and  presently  the  gay  years 
wind  past  us,  as  our  cavalcade  came  toward  the  stag, 
and  God's  incnrions  angel  slays  us,  much  as  we  slew  the 
stag.  And  we  wrill  not  understand,  and  we  \vill  wonder, 
as  the  stag  did,  in  helpless  wonder.  And  Death  wTill 
have  his  sport  of  us,  as  in  atonement."  Here  her  big 

57 


(Eljibalry 

eyes  shone,  as  the  sun  glints  upon  a  sand -bottomed  pool. 
"  Oh6,  I  have  known  such  happiness  of  late,  beau  sire, 
that  I  am  hideously  afraid  to  die."  And  again  the 
heavily  fringed  eyelids  lifted,  and  within  the  moment 
sank  contentedly. 

For  the  King  had  murmured  "Happiness!"  and  his 
glance  was  rapacious. 

"But  I  am  discourteous,"  Blanch  said,  "to  prate 
of  death  thus  drearily.  Let  us  flout  him,  then,  with 
some  gay  song."  And  toward  Sire  Edward  she  handed 
Rigon's  lute. 

The  King  accepted  it.  "  Death  is  not  reasonably 
mocked,"  Sire  Edward  said,  "since  in  the  end  he  con 
quers,  and  of  the  very  lips  that  gibed  at  him  remains  but 
a  little  dust.  Nay,  rather  should  I  who  already  stand 
beneath  a  lifted  sword  make  for  my  immediate  conqueror 
a  Sirvente,  which  is  the  Song  of  Service." 

Sang  Sire  Edward: 

"  /  sing  of  Death,  that  conieth  to  the  king, 

And  lightly  plucks  him  from  the  cushioned  throne, 

And  drowns  his  glory  and  his  war  far  ing 
In  unrecorded  dim  oblivion, 

And  girds  another  with  the  sword  thereof, 
And  sets  another  in  his  stead  to  reign, 
What  time  the  monarch  nakedly  must  gain 
Styx'  hither  shore  and  nakedly  complain 

'Midst  twittering  ghosts  lamenting  life  and  love. 

"  For  Death  is  merciless:  a  crack-brained  king 

Pie  raises  in  the  place  of  Prester  John, 
Smites  Priam,  and  mid-course  in  conquering 

Bids  C&sar  pause;  the  wit  of  Salomon, 
The  wealth  of  Nero  and  the  pride  thereof, 

58 


©It?    ^t 

And  prowess  of  great  captains — of  Gawayne, 
Darius,  Jeshua,  and  Charlemaigne — 
Wheedle  and  bribe  and  surfeit  Death  in  vain 
And  get  no  grace  of  him  nor  any  love. 

"  Incuriously  he  smites  the  armored  king 
And  tricks  his  wisest  counsellor— 

"True,  O  God!"  murmured  the  tiny  woman,  who  sat 
beside  the  window  yonder.  And  Dame  Meregrett  rose 
and  in  silence  passed  from  the  room. 

The  two  started,  and  laughed  in  common,  and  after 
ward  paid  little  heed  to  her  outgoing.  For  Sire  Edward 
had  put  aside  the  lute  and  sat  now  regarding  the  Princess. 
His  big  left  hand  propped  the  bearded  chin;  his  grave 
countenance  was  flushed,  and  his  intent  eyes  shone  under 
their  shaggy  brows,  very  steadily,  like  the  tapers  before 
an  altar. 

And,  irresolutely,  Dame  Blanch  plucked  at  her  gown; 
then  rearranged  a  fold  of  it,  and  with  composure  awaited 
the  ensuing  action,  afraid  at  bottom,  but  not  at  all  ill- 
pleased;  and  always  she  looked  downward. 

The  King  said:  "Never  before  were  we  two  alone, 
madame.  Fate  is  very  gracious  to  me  this  morning." 

"Fate,"  the  lady  considered,  "has  never  denied  much 
to  the  Hammer  of  the  Scots." 

"She  has  denied  me  nothing,"  he  sadly  said,  "save 
the  one  thing  that  makes  this  business  of  living  seem  a 
rational  proceeding.  Fame  and  power  and  wealth  she 
has  accorded  me,  no  doubt,  but  never  the  common  joys 
of  life.  And,  look  you,  my  Princess,  I  am  of  aging  per 
son  now.  During  some  thirty  years  I  have  ruled  England 
according  to  my  interpretation  of  God's  will  as  it  wras 
anciently  made  manifest  by  the  holy  Evangelists;  and 

59 


QJljtnalrg 

during  that  period  I  have  ruled  England  not  without 
odd  by-ends  of  commendation:  yet  behold,  to-day  I  for 
get  the  world-applauded,  excellent  King  Edward,  and 
remember  only  Edward  Plantagenet — 'hot-blooded  and 
desirous  man!  —  of  whom  that  much-commended  king 
has  made  a  prisoner  all  these  years." 

"It  is  the  duty  of  exalted  persons,"  Blanch  unsteadily 
said,  "to  put  aside  such  private  inclinations  as  their 
breasts  may  harbor — 

He  said,  "I  have  done  what  I  might  for  the  happiness 
of  every  Englishman  within  my  realm  saving  only  Ed 
ward  Plantagenet;  and  now  I  think  his  turn  to  be  at 
hand."  Then  the  man  kept  silence;  and  his  hot  appraisal 
daunted  her. 

"Lord,"  she  presently  faltered,  "lord,  in  sober  verity 
Love  cannot  extend  his  laws  between  husband  and  wife, 
since  the  gifts  of  love  are  voluntary,  and  husband  and 
wife  are  but  the  slaves  of  duty— 

"Troubadourish  nonsense!"  Sire  Edward  said;  "yet 
it  is  true  that  the  gifts  of  love  are  voluntary.  And  there 
fore—  Ha,  most  beautiful,  what  have  you  and  I  to  do 
with  all  this  chaffering  over  Guienne?"  The  two  stood 
very  close  to  each  other  now. 

Blanch  said,  "  It  is  a  high  matter — "  Then  on  a  sudden 
the  full-veined  girl  was  aglow  with  passion.  "  It  is  a 
trivial  matter."  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  since  already 
her  cheeks  flared  in  scarlet  anticipation  of  the  event. 

And  thus  holding  her,  he  wooed  the  girl  tempestuously. 
Here,  indeed,  was  Sieur  Hercules  enslaved,  burned  by  a 
fiercer  fire  than  that  of  Nessus,  and  the  huge  bulk  of  the 
unconquerable  visibly  shaken  by  his  adoration.  In  the 
disordered  tapestry  of  verbiage,  passion-flapped  as  a  flag 
is  by  the  wind,  she  presently  beheld  herself  prefigured 
by  Balkis,  the  Jud can's  lure,  and  by  the  Princess  of  Cy- 

60 


uJlj?    &turi}    of    tljt    2lat-OJrap 

prus  (in  Aristotle's  time),  *ind  by  Nicolctte,  the  King's 
daughter  of  Carthage — since  the  first  flush  of  morning 
was  as  a  rush-light  before  her  resplendency,  the  man 
swore;  and  in  conclusion,  by  the  Countess  of  Tripolis,  for 
love  of  whom  he  had  cleft  the  seas,  and  losing  whom  he 
must  inevitably  die  as  Ruclcl  did.  lie  snapped  his  fingers 
now  over  any  consideration  of  Guienne.  He  would  con 
quer  for  her  all  Muscovy  and  all  Cataia,  too,  if  she  desired 
mere  acreage.  Meanwhile  he  wanted  her,  and  his  hard 
and  savage  passion  beat  down  opposition  as  with  a 
bludgeon. 

"  Heart's  emperor,"  the  trembling  girl  more  lately  said, 
"  I  think  that  you  were  cast  in  some  larger  mould  than 
we  of  France.  Oh,  none  of  us  may  dare  resist  you!  and 
I  know  that  nothing  matters,  nothing  in  all  the  world, 
save  that  you  love  me.  Then  take  me,  since  you  will  it — 
and  not  as  King,  since  you  will  otherwise,  but  as  Edward 
Plantagenet.  For  listen!  by  good  luck  you  have  this 
afternoon  despatched  Rigon  for  Chevrieul,  where  to 
morrow  we  hunt  the  great  boar.  And  in  consequence 
to-night  this  hut  will  be  unoccupied." 

The  man  was  silent.  He  had  a  gift  that  way  when 
occasion  served. 

"Here,  then,  beau  sire!  here,  then,  at  nine,  you  are  to 
meet  me  with  my  chaplain.  Behold,  he  marries  us,  as 
glibly  as  though  we  twro  were  peasants.  Poor  king 
and  princess!"  cried  Dame  Blanch,  and  in  a  voice  which 
thrilled  him,  "  shall  ye  not,  then,  dare  to  be  but  man  and 
woman?" 

"Ha!"  the  King  said.  He  laughed.  "The  King  is 
pleased  to  loose  his  prisoner ;  and  I  will  do  it."  He  fierce 
ly  said  this,  for  the  girl  was  very  beautiful. 

So  he  came  that  night,  without  any  retinue,  and  hab 
ited  as  a  forester,  a  horn  swung  about  his  neck,  into  the 

61 


unlighted  hut  of  Rigon  the  forester,  and  found  a  wom 
an  there,  though  not  the  woman  whom  he  had  perhaps 
expected. 

"  Treachery,  beau  sire !    Horrible  treachery !"  she  wailed. 

'I  have  encountered  it  ere  this,"  the  big  man  said. 

"  Presently  comes  not  Blanch  but  Philippe,  with  many 
men  to  back  him.  And  presently  they  will  slay  you. 
You  have  been  trapped,  beau  sire.  Ah,  for  the  love  of 
God,  go!  Go,  while  there  is  yet  time!" 

Sire  Edward  reflected.  Undoubtedly,  to  light  on  Ed 
ward  Longshanks  alone  in  a  forest  would  appear  to  King 
Philippe,  if  properly  attended,  a  tempting  chance  to  settle 
divers  disputations,  once  for  all;  and  Sire  Edward  knew 
the  conscience  of  his  old  opponent  to  be  invulnerable. 
The  act  would  violate  all  laws  of  hospitality  and  knight 
hood — oh,  granted!  but  its  outcome  would  be  a  very 
definite  gain  to  France,  and  for  the  rest,  merely  a  dead 
body  in  a  ditch.  Not  a  monarch  in  Christendom,  Sire 
Edward  reflected,  but  feared  and  in  consequence  hated 
the  Hammer  of  the  Scots,  and  in  further  consequence 
would  not  lift  a  finger  to  avenge  him ;  and  not  a  being  in 
the  universe  would  rejoice  at  Philippe's  achievement  one- 
half  so  heartily  as  would  Sire  Edward's  son  and  immediate 
successor,  the  young  Prince  Edward  of  Caernarvon.  So 
that,  all  in  all,  ohime!  Philippe  had  planned  the  affair 
with  forethought. 

What  Sire  Edward  said  was,  "  Dame  Blanch,  then, 
knew  of  this?"  But  Meregrett's  pitiful  eyes  had  already 
answered  him,  and  he  laughed  a  little. 

"  In  that  event  I  have  to-night  enregistered  my  name 
among  the  goodly  company  of  Love's  Lunatics — 

"  Sots  amo-urciix,  sots  privez,  sots  sauvages, 
Sots  vicux,  noitvcan.v,  ct  sots  dc  tons  ages," 
62 


thus  he  scornfully  declaimed,  "and  as  yokefellow  with 
Dan  Merlin  in  his  thorn-bush,  and  with  wise  Salomon 
when  he  capered  upon  the  high  places  of  Chemosh,  and 
with  Duke  Ares  sheepishly  agrin  within  the  net  of  Mul- 
ciber.  Rogues  all,  madame!  fools  all!  yet  always  the 
flesh  trammels  us,  and  allures  the  soul  to  such  sensual  de 
lights  as  bar  its  passage  toward  the  eternal  life  wherein 
alone  lies  the  empire  and  the  heritage  of  the  soul.  And 
why  does  this  carnal  prison  so  impede  the  soul  ?  Because 
Satan  once  ranked  among  the  sons  of  God,  and  the  Eter 
nal  Father,  as  I  take  it,  has  not  yet  forgotten  the  antique 
relationship — and  hence  it  is  permitted  even  in  our  late 
time  that  always  the  flesh  rebel  against  the  spirit,  and 
always  these  so  tiny  and  so  thin-voiced  tricksters,  these 
highly  tinted  miracles  of  iniquity,  so  gracious  in  demeanor 
and  so  starry-eyed- 
Then  he  turned  and  pointed,  no  longer  the  zealot  but 
the  expectant  captain  now.  "  Look,  my  Princess !"  For  in 
the  pathway  from  which  he  had  recently  emerged  stood 
a  man  in  full  armor  like  a  sentinel.  "  Mort  de  Dieu,  we 
can  but  try,"  Sire  Edward  said. 

"Too  late,"  said  Meregrett;  and  yet  she  followed  him. 
And  presently,  in  a  big  splash  of  moonlight,  the  armed 
man's  falchion  glittered  across  their  way.  "Back,"  he 
bade  them,  "for  by  the  King's  orders  no  man  passes." 

"It  were  very  easy  now  to  strangle  this  herring,"  Sire 
Edward  reflected. 

"But  scarcely  a  whole  school  of  herring,"  the  fellow 
retorted.     "Nay,    Messire    d'Aquitaine,    the    bushes    of 
Ermenoueil  are  alive  with  my  associates.     The  hut  yon 
der,  in  effect,  is  girdled  by  them — and  we  have  our  orders." 
"Concerning  women?"  the  King  said. 
The  man  deliberated.     Then  Sire  Edward  handed  him 
three    gold    pieces.      "There    was    assuredly    no    specific 

63 


mention  of  petticoats,"  the  soldier  now  reflected,  "and 
in  consequence  I  dare  to  pass  the  Princess." 

"And  in  that  event,"  Sire  Edward  said,  "we  twain  had 
as  well  bid  each  other  adieu." 

But  Meregrett  only  said,  "  You  bid  me  go?" 

He  waved  his  hand.  "Since  there  is  no  choice.  For 
that  which  you  have  done — ho\vever  tardily — I  thank 
you.  Meantime  I  can  but  return  to  Rigon's  hut  to  re 
arrange  my  toga  as  King  Caesar  did  when  the  assassins 
fell  upon  him,  and  to  encounter  whatever  Dame  Luck 
may  send  with  due  decorum." 

"To  die!"  she  said. 

He  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders.  "  In  the  end  we 
necessarily  die." 

Dame  Meregrett  turned  and  passed  back  into  the  hut 
without  faltering. 

And  when  he  had  lighted  the  inefficient  lamp  which 
he  found  there,  Sire  Edward  wheeled  upon  her  in  half- 
humorous  vexation.  "Presently  come  your  brother  and 
his  tattling  lords.  To  be  discovered  here  with  me  at 
night,  alone,  means  infamy.  If  Philippe  chance  to  fall 
into  one  of  his  Capetian  rages  it  means  death." 

"Nay,  lord,  it  means  far  worse  than  death."  And  she 
laughed,  though  not  merrily. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  Sire  Edward  regarded  her 
with  profound  consideration,  as  may  we.  To  the  finger 
tips  this  so-little  lady  showed  a  descendant  of  the  holy 
Lewis  he  had  known  and  loved  in  old  years.  Small  and 
thinnish  she  was,  with  soft  and  profuse  hair  that,  for  all 
its  blackness,  gleamed  in  the  lamplight  with  stray  ripples 
of  brilliancy,  as  you  may  see  a  spark  shudder  to  extinction 
over  burning  charcoal.  The  Valois  nose  she  had,  long 
and  delicate  in  form,  and  overhanging  a  short  upper-lip; 
yet  the  lips  were  glorious  in  tint,  and  her  skin  the  very 

64 


by  Howard   l'yl> 

"SHE     HAD     VIEWED     THE     GREAT     CONQUEROR 


rg    0f    Hje    Hat-Sirup 

Hyperborean  snow  in  tint,.  As  for  her  eyes,  say,  gigantic 
onyxes — or  ebony  highly  polished  and  wet  with  May  clew. 
They  were  too  big  for  her  little  face:  and  they  made  of  her 
a  tiny  and  desirous  wraith  which  nervously  endured  each 
incident  of  life  —  invariably  acquiescent,  as  a  foreigner 
must  necessarily  be,  to  the  custom  of  the  country.  In 
fine,  this  Meregrett  was  strange  and  brightly  colored  ;  and 
she  seemed  always  thrilled  with  some  subtle  mirth,  like 
that  of  a  Siren  who  notes  how  the  sailor  pauses  at  the 
bulwark  and  laughs  a  little  (knowing  the  outcome),  and 
does  not  greatly  care.  Yet  now  Dame  Meregrett 's  coun 
tenance  was  rapt. 

And  Sire  Edward  moved  one  step  toward  this  tiny 
lady  and  paused.  "Madame,  1  do  not  understand." 

Dame  Meregrett  looked  up  into  his  face  unflinchingly. 
"It  means  that  I  love  you,  sire.  I  may  speak  without 
shame  now,  for  presently  you  die.  Die  bravely,  sire! 
Die  in  such  fashion  as  may  hearten  me  to  live." 

The  little  Princess  spoke  the  truth,  for  always  since  his 
coming  to  Mezelais  she  had  viewed  the  great  conqueror 
as  through  an  awreful  haze  of  forerunning  rumor,  twin  to 
that  golden  vapor  which  enswathes  a  god  and  transmutes 
whatever  in  corporeal  man  had  been  a  defect  into  some 
divine  and  hitherto  unguessed-at  excellence.  I  must  tell 
you  in  this  place,  since  no  other  occasion  offers,  that 
even  until  the  end  of  her  life  it  was  so.  For  to  her  what 
in  other  persons  would  have  seemed  but  flagrant  dulness 
showed,  somehow,  in  Sire  Edward,  as  the  majestic  de 
liberation  of  one  that  knows  his  verdict  to  be  decisive, 
and  hence  appraises  cautiously ;  and  if  sometimes  his  big, 
calm  eyes  betrayed  no  apprehension  of  the  jest  at  which 
her  lips  were  laughing,  and  of  which  her  brain  very  cor 
dially  approved,  always  within  the  instant  her  heart  con 
vinced  her  that  a  god  is  not  lightly  moved  to  mirth. 

65  ' 


Glljttiairg 

And  now  it  was  a  god — 0  dens  ccrte ! — who  had  taken 
a  woman's  paltry  face  between  his  hands,  half  roughly. 
"And.  the  maid  is  a  Capet!"  Sire  Edward  mused. 

"  Never  has  Blanch  desired  you  any  ill,  beau  sire.  But 
it  is  the  Archduke  of  Austria  that  she  loves,  beau  sire. 
And  once  you  were  dead,  she  might  marry  him.  One 
cannot  blame  her,"  Meregrett  considered,  "  since  he  wishes 
to  marry  her,  and  she,  of  course,  wishes  to  make  him 
happy." 

"And  not  herself,  save  in  some  secondary  way!"  the 
big  King  said.  "In  part  I  comprehend,  madame.  And 
I,  too,  long  for  this  same  happiness,  impotently  now,  and 
much  as  a  fevered  man  might  long  for  water.  And  my 
admiration  for  the  Death  whom  I  praised  this  morning 
is  somewhat  abated.  There  was  a  Tenson  once — Lord, 
Lord,  how  long  ago!  I  learn  too  late  that  truth  may 
possibly  have  been  upon  the  losing  side —  He  took  up 
Rigon's  lute. 

Sang  Sire  Edward: 

Incuriously  lie  smites  the  armored  king 
And  tricks  his  wisest  counsellor —  • 

ay,    the   song   ran   thus.     Now    listen,    madame — listen, 
while  for  me  Death  waits  without,  and  for  you  ignominy." 
Sang  Sire  Edward: 

11  Anon 
Will  Death  not  bid  us  cease  from  pleasuring, 

And  change  for  idle  laughter  i    the  sun 
The  grave  s  long  silence  and  the  peace  thereof, — 
Where  we  entranced,  Death  our   Viviainc 
Implacable,  mav  never  more  regain 
The  unf  or  gotten  passion,  and  the  pain 
And  grief  and  ecstasy  of  life  and  love? 
66 


of 

"  Yea,  presently,  as  quiet  as  the  king 

Sleeps  now  thai  laid  the  walls  of  I  lion, 

We,  too,  will  sleep,  and  overhead  the  spring 

Laugh,  and  young  lovers  laugh — as  we  have  done — 

And  kiss — as  we,  that  take  no  heed  thereof, 
But  slumber  very  soundly,  and  disdain 
The  world-wide  heralding  of  winter's  wane 
And  swift  sweet  ripple  of  the  April  rain 

Running  about  the  world  to  waken  love. 

"  We  shall  have  done  with  Love,  and  Death  be  king 
And  turn  our  nimble  bodies  carrion, 

Our  red  lips  dusty; — yet  our  live  lips  cling 
Spite  of  that  age-long  severance  and  are  one 

Spite  of  the  grave  and  the  vain  grief  thereof 
We  mean  to  baffle,  if  in  Death' s  domain 
Old  memories  may  enter,  and  we  twain 
May  dream  a  little,  and  rehearse  again 

In  that  unending  sleep  our  present  love. 

"  Speed  forth  to  her  in  sorry  unison, 

My  rhymes:  and  say  Death  mocks  us,  and  is  slain 

Lightly  by  Love,  that  lightly  thinks  thereon; 
And  that  were  love  at  my  disposal  Iain- 
All  mine  to  take! — and  Death  had  said,  'Refrain, 

Lest  I  demand  the  bitter  cost  thereof,' 
I  know  that  even  as  the  weather-vane 

Follows  the  wind  so  would  I  follow  Love" 

Sire  Edward  put  aside  the  lute.  "Thus  ends  the  Song 
of  Service,"  he  said,  "which  was  made  not  by  the  King 
of  England  but  by  Edward  Plantagenet  —  hot-blooded 
and  desirous  man! — in  honor  of  the  one  woman  who 
within  more  years  than  I  care  to  think  of  has  attempted 
to  serve  but  Edward  Plantagenet." 
6  67 


"I  do  not  comprehend,"  she  said.  And,  indeed,  she 
dared  not. 

But  now  he  held  both  tiny  hands  in  his.  "At  best, 
your  poet  is  an  egotist.  I  must  die  presently.  Mean 
time  I  crave  largesse,  madame!  ay,  a  great  largesse,  so 
that  in  his  unending  sleep  your  poet  may  rehearse  our 
present  love."  And  even  in  Rigon's  dim  light  he  found 
her  kindling  eyes  not  niggardly. 

So  that  more  lately  Sire  Edward  strode  to  the  window 
and  raised  big  hands  toward  the  spear-points  of  the  aloof 
stars.  "Master  of  us  all!"  he  cried;  "O  Father  of  us  all! 
the  Hammer  of  the  Scots  am  I!  the  Scourge  of  France, 
the  conqueror  of  Llewellyn  and  of  Leicester,  and  the 
flail  of  the  accursed  race  that  slew  Thine  only  Son!  the 
King  of  England  am  I  who  have  made  of  England  an 
imperial  nation  and  have  given  to  Thy  Englishmen  new 
laws !  And  to-night  I  crave  my  hire.  Never,  O  my  Father, 
have  I  had  of  any  person  aught  save  reverence  or  hatred! 
never  in  my  life  has  any  person  loved  me!  And  I  am  old, 
my  Father — I  urn  old,  and  presently  I  die.  As  I  have 
served  Thee — as  Jacob  wrestled  with  Thee  at  the  ford  of 
Jabbok— at  the  place  of  Peniel—  Against  the  tremu 
lous  blue  and  silver  of  the  forest  she  saw  in  terror  how 
horribly  the  big  man  was  shaken.  "My  hire!  my  hire!" 
he  hoarsely  said.  "Forty  long  years,  my  Father!  And 
now  I  will  not  let  Thee  go  except  Thou  hear  me." 

And  presently  he  turned,  stark  and  black  in  the  rear 
ward  splendor  of  the  moon.  "  As  a  prince  hast  thou  power 
with  God,"  he  calmly  said,  "and  thou  hast  prevailed. 
For  the  King  of  kings  was  never  obdurate,  m'amye. 

"Child!  O  brave,  brave  child!"  he  said  to  her  a  little 
later,  "  I  was  never  afraid  to  die,  and  yet  to-night  I  would 
that  I  might  live  a  trifle  longer  than  in  common  reason  I 
may  ever  hope  to  live!"  And  their  lips  met, 

68 


rg    nf    tit? 

Neither  stirred  when  Philippe  the  Handsome  came  into 
the  room.  At  his  heels  were  seven  lords,  armed  cap-a-pie, 
but  the  entrance  of  eight  cockchafers  had  meant  as  much 
to  these  transfigured  two. 

The  French  King  was  an  odd  man,  no  more  sane,  per 
haps,  than  might  reasonably  be  expected  of  a  Valois. 
Subtly  smiling,  he  came  forward  through  the  twilight, 
with  soft,  long  strides,  and  made  no  outcry  at  recognition 
of  his  sister.  "Take  the  woman  away,  Victor,"  he  said, 
disinterestedly,  to  de  Montespan.  Afterward  he  sat  down 
beside  the  table  and  remained  silent  for  a  while,  in 
tently  regarding  Sire  Edward  and  the  tiny  woman  w7ho 
clung  to  Sire  Edward's  arm;  and  always  in  the  flickering 
gloom  of  the  hut  Philippe  smiled  as  an  artist  might  do 
who  gazes  on  the  perfected  work  and  knows  it  to  be 
adroit. 

"You  prefer  to  remain,  my  sister?"  he  presently  said. 
"He  bien!  it  happens  that  to-night  I  am  in  a  mood  for 
granting  almost  any  favor.  A  little  later  and  I  will  at 
tend  to  you."  The  fleet  disorder  of  his  visage  had  lapsed 
again  into  the  meditative  smile  which  was  that  of  Lucifer 
watching  a  toasted  soul.  "And  so  it  ends,"  he  said. 
"Conqueror  of  Scotland,  Scourge  of  France!  O  uncon 
querable  king!  and  will  the  worms  of  Ermenoueil,  then, 
pause  to-morrow  to  consider  through  what  a  glorious 
turmoil  their  dinner  came  to  them?" 

"  You  design  murder,  fair  cousin?"  Sire  Edward  said. 

The  French  King  shrugged.  "  I  design  that  within  this 
moment  my  lords  shall  slay  you  while  I  sit  here  and  do 
not  move  a  finger.  Is  it  not  good  to  be  a  king,  my  cousin, 
and  to  sit  quite  still,  and  to  see  your  bitterest  enemy 
hacked  and  slain — and  all  the  while  to  sit  quite  still,  quite 
unruffled,  as  a  king  should  always  be?  Eh,  eh!  I  never 
lived  until  to-night!" 

6Q 


(Eljtualrg 

"Now,  by  Heaven,"  said  Sire  Edward,  "I  am  your 
kinsman  and  your  guest,  I  am  unarmed— 

And  Philippe  bowed  his  head.  "Undoubtedly,"  he 
assented,  "  the  deed  is  a  foul  one.  But  I  desire  Gascony 
very  earnestly,  and  so  long  as  you  live  you  will  never  per 
mit  me  to  retain  Gascony.  Hence  it  is  quite  necessary,  you 
conceive,  that  I  murder  you.  What!"  he  presently  said, 
"will  you  not  beg  for  mercy?  I  had  so  hoped,"  the 
French  King  added,  somewhat  wistfully,  "that  you  might 
be  afraid  to  die,  O  huge  and  righteous  man!  and  would 
entreat  me  to  spare  you.  To  spurn  the  weeping  con 
queror  of  Llewellyn,  say  .  .  .  But  these  sins  which  damn 
one's  soul  are  in  actual  performance  very  tedious  affairs; 
and  I  begin  to  grow  aweary  of  the  game.  He  bien!  now 
kill  this  man  for  me,  messieurs." 

The  English  King  strode  forward.  "O  shallow  trick 
ster!"  Sire  Edward  thundered.  ''Am  I  not  afraid?  You 
baby,  would  you  ensnare  a  lion  with  a  flimsy  rat-trap  ? 
Not  so;  for  it  is  the  nature  of  a  rat-trap,  fair  cousin, 
to  ensnare  not  the  beast  which  imperiously  desires  and 
takes  in  daylight,  but  the  tinier  and  the  filthier  beast  that 
covets  and  under  darkness  pilfers — as  you  and  your  seven 
skulkers!"  The  man  was  rather  terrible;  not  a  French 
man  within  the  hut  but  had  drawn  back  a  little. 

"Listen!"  Sire  Edward  said,  and  came  yet  farther 
toward  the  King  of  France  and  shook  at  him  one  fore 
finger;  "when  you  were  in  your  cradle  I  was  leading 
armies.  When  you  were  yet  unbreeched  I  was  lord  of 
half  Europe.  For  thirty  years  I  have  driven  kings  be 
fore  me  as  Fierabras  did.  Am  I,  then,  a  person  to  be 
hoodwinked  by  the  first  big-bosomed  huzzy  that  elects 
to  waggle  her  fat  shoulders  and  to  grant  an  assignation 
in  a  forest  expressively  designed  for  stabbings?  You 
baby,  is  the  Hammer  of  the  Scots  the  man  to  trust  a 

70 


nf    tlj?    Slat-ulrap 

Capet?  Ill-mannered  infant,"  the  King  said,  with  bitter 
laughter,  "it  is  now  necessary  that  I  summon  my  attend 
ants  and  remove  you  to  a  nursery  which  I  have  prepared 
in  England."  He  set  the  horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  three 
blasts. 

There  came  many  armed  warriors  into  the  hut,  bearing 
ropes.  Here  was  the  entire  retinue  of  the  Earl  of  Aqui- 
taine;  and,  cursing,  Sire  Philippe  sprang  upon  the  English 
King,  and  with  a  dagger  smote  at  the  impassive  big  man's 
heart.  The  blade  broke  against  the  mail  armor  under 
the  tunic.  "Have  I  not  told  you,"  Sire  Edward  wearily 
said,  "that  one  may  never  trust  a  Capet?  Now,  mes 
sieurs,  bind  these  carrion  and  convey  them  whither  I 
have  directed  you.  Nay,  but,  Roger—  He  conversed 
apart  with  his  lieutenant,  and  what  Sire  Edward  com 
manded  was  done.  The  French  King  and  seven  lords  of 
France  went  from  that  hut  trussed  like  chickens. 

And  now  Sire  Edward  turned  toward  Meregrett  and 
chafed  his  big  hands  gleefully.  "At  every  tree-bole  a 
tethered  horse  awaits  us;  and  a  ship  awaits  our  party  at 
Fecamp.  To-morrow  we  sleep  in  England — and,  Mort 
de  Dieu!  do  you  not  think,  madame,  that  within  the 
Tower  your  brother  and  I  may  more  quickly  come  to 
some  agreement  over  Guienne?" 

She  had  shrunk  from  him.  "  Then  the  trap  was  yours  ? 
It  was  you  that  lured  my  brother  to  this  infamy!" 

"  I  am  vile!"  was  the  man's  thought.  And,  "  In  effect,  I 
planned  it  many  months  ago  at  Ipswich  yonder,"  Sire 
Edward  gayly  said.  "  Faith  of  a  gentleman !  your  brother 
has  cheated  me  of  Guienne,  and  was  I  to  waste  an  eternity 
in  begging  him  to  restore  it?  Nay,  for  I  have  a  many 
spies  in  France,  and  have  for  some  two  years  known  your 
brother  and  your  sister  to  the  bottom.  Granted  that  I 
came  hither  incognito,  to  forecast  your  kinfolk's  imme- 


diate  endeavors  was  none  too  difficult;  and  I  wanted 
Guienne — and,  in  consequence,  the  person  of  your  brother. 
Mort  de  ma  vie!  Shall  not  the  seasoned  hunter  adapt 
his  snare  aforetime  to  the  qualities  of  his  prey,  and  take 
the  elephant  through  his  curiosity,  as  the  snake  through  his 
notorious  treachery  ?' '  Now  the  King  of  England  blustered. 

But  the  little  Princess  wrung  her  hands.  "  I  am  this 
night  most  hideously  shamed.  Beau  sire,  I  came  hither 
to  aid  a  brave  man  infamously  trapped,  and  instead  I 
find  an  alert  spider,  snug  in  his  cunning  web,  and  pa 
tiently  waiting  until  the  gnats  of  France  fly  near  enough. 
Eh,  the  greater  fool  was  I  to  waste  my  labor  on  the  shrewd 
and  evil  thing  which  has  no  more  need  of  me  than  I  of  it ! 
And  now  let  me  go  hence,  sire,  and  unmolested,  for  the 
sake  of  chivalry.  Could  I  have  come  to  you  but  as  to  the 
brave  man  I  had  dreamed  of,  I  had  come  through  the 
murkiest  lane  of  hell ;  as  the  more  artful  knave,  as  the 
more  judicious  trickster" — and  here  she  thrust  him  from 
her— "I  spit  upon  you.  Now  let  me  go  hence." 

He  took  her  in  his  brawny  arms.  "Fit  mate  for  me," 
he  said.  "  Little  vixen,  had  you  done  otherwise  I  had 
devoted  you  to  the  devil." 

Anon,  still  grasping  her,  and  victoriously  lifting  Dame 
Meregrett,  so  that  her  feet  swung  quite  clear  of  the  floor, 
Sire  Edward  said:  "Look  you,  in  my  time  I  have  played 
against  Fate  for  considerable  stakes— for  fortresses,  and 
towns,  and  strong  citadels,  and  for  kingdoms  even.  And 
it  was  only  to-night  I  perceived  that  the  one  stake  worth 
playing  for  is  love.  It  were  easy  enough  to  get  you  for 
my  wife;  but  I  want  more  than  that.  .  .  .  Pschutt!  I 
know  well  enough  how  women  have  these  notions:  and 
carefully  I  weighed  the  issue — Meregrett  and  Guienne  to 
boot?  or  Meregrett  and  Meregrett 's  love  to  boot? — and 
thus  the  final  destination  of  my  captives  was  but  the 

72 


SJhe    i>turg    nf    tlje    lUt-drap 

courtyard  of  Mezelais,  in  order  T  might,  o>me  lo  you  \vitli 
hands — well!  not  intolerably  soiled." 

"Oh,  now  I  love  you!"  she  cried,  a-thrill  with  disap 
pointment.  "Yet  you  have  done  wrong,  for  Guiennc  is 
a  king's  ransom." 

He  smiled  whimsically,  and  presently  one  arm  swept 
beneath  her  knees,  so  that  presently  he  held  her  as  one 
dandles  a  baby;  and  presently  his  stiff  and  yellow  beard 
caressed  her  burning  cheek.  Masterfully  he  said:  "Then 
let  it  serve  as  such  and  ransom  for  a  king  his  glad  and 
common  manhood.  Ah,  m'amye,  I  am  both  very  wise 
and  abominably  selfish.  And  in  either  capacity  it  ap 
pears  expedient  that  I  leave  France  without  any  un 
wholesome  delay.  More  lately — he,  already  I  have  within 
my  pocket  the  Pope's  dispensation  permitting  me  to  marry 
the  sister  of  the  King  of  France,  so  that  I  dare  to  hope." 

Very  shyly  Dame  Meregrett  lifted  her  little  mouth 
toward  his  hot  and  bearded  lips.  "Patience,"  she  said, 
"is  a  virtue;  and  daring  is  a  virtue;  and  hope,  too,  is  a 
virtue:  and  otherwise,  beau  sire,  I  would  not  live." 

And  in  consequence,  after  a  deal  of  political  tergiversa 
tion  (Nicolas  concludes),  in  the  year  of  grace  1299,  on  the 
day  of  our  Lady's  nativity,  and  in  the  twenty-seventh 
year  of  King  Edward's  reign,  came  to  the  British  realm, 
and  landed  at  Dover,  not  Dame  Blanch,  as  would  have 
been  in  consonance  with  seasoned  expectation,  but  Dame 
Meregrett,  the  other  daughter  of  King  Philippe  the  Bold; 
and  upon  the  following  day  proceeded  to  Canterbury, 
whither  on  the  next  Thursday  after  came  Edward,  King 
of  England,  into  the  Church  of  the  Trinity  at  Canterbury, 
and  therein  espoused  the  aforesaid  Dame  Meregrett. 


THE  END  OF  THE  THIRD  NOVEL 


IV 
j^torij   of  lljr 


"  Sest  fable  es  en  aquest  mon 
Scmblans  al  homes  qite  i  son; 
Que  el  mager  sen  qiiom  pot  aver 
So  es  amar  Dieu  et  sa  mer, 
E  gardar  sos  comcndamens." 


THE  FOURTH  NOVEL. — YSABEAU  OF  FRANCE,  DESIROUS  OF 
DISTRACTION,  LOOKS  FOR  RECREATION  IN  THE  TORMENT 

OF  A  CERTAIN  KNIGHT,  WHOM  SHE  PROVES  TO  BE  NO  MORE 
THAN  HUMAN;  BUT  IN  THE  OUTCOME  OF  HER  HOLIDAY 
HE  CONFOUNDS  THIS  QUEEN  BY  THE  WIT  OF  HIS  REPLY. 


J^i0rij   uf 


'N  the  year  of  grace  1327  (thus  Nicolas 
begins)  you  could  have  found  in  all  Eng 
land  no  lovers  more  ardent  in  affection 
or  in  despair  more  affluent  than  Rosa 
mund  Eastney  and  Sir  Gregory  Darrcll. 
She  was  Lord  Berners'  only  daughter, 
a  brown  beauty,  and  of  extensive  repute,  thanks  to 
such  among  her  retinue  of  lovers  as  were  practitioners  of 
the  Gay  Science  and  had  scattered  broadcast  innumerable 
Canzons  in  her  honor;  and  Lord  Berners  was  a  man  who 
accepted  the  wrorld  as  he  found  it. 

"  Dompnedex!"  the  Earl  was  wont  to  say;  "  in  sincerity 
I  am  fond  of  Gregory  Darrcll,  and  if  he  chooses  to  make 
love  to  my  daughter  that  is  none  of  my  affair.  The  eyes 
and  the  brain  preserve  a  proverbial  warfare,  which  is  the 
source  of  all  amenity,  for  without  lady-service  there  would 
be  no  songs  and  tourneys,  no  measure  and  no  good  breed 
ing;  and,  in  a  phrase,  a  man  delinquent  in  it  is  no  more 
to  be  valued  than  an  ear  of  corn  without  the  grain.  Nay, 
I  am  so  profoundly  an  admirer  of  Love  that  I  can  never 
willingly  behold  him  slain,  of  a  surfeit,  by  Matrimony; 
and  besides,  the  rapscallion  could  not  to  advantage  ex 
change  purses  with  Lazarus;  and,  moreover,  Rosamund  is 
to  marry  the  Earl  of  Sarum  a  little  after  All  Saints'  day." 
"Sarum!"  people  echoed.  "Why,  the  old  goat  has 
had  two  wives  already!" 

77 


(Eljiualrg 

And  the  Earl  would  spread  his  hands.  "One  of  the 
wealthiest  persons  in  England,"  he  was  used  to  submit. 

Thus  it  fell  out  that  Sir  Gregory  came  and  went  at  his 
own  discretion  as  concerned  Lord  Berners'  fief  of  Ordish, 
all  through  those  gusty  times  of  warfare  between  Sire 
Edward  and  Queen  Ysabeau,  until  at  last  the  Queen  had 
conquered.  Lord  Berners,  for  one,  vexed  himself  not 
inordinately  over  the  outcome  of  events,  since  he  pro 
tested  the  King's  armament  to  consist  of  fools  and  the 
Queen's  of  rascals ;  and  had  with  entire  serenity  declined 
to  back  either  Dick  or  the  devil. 

It  was  in  the  September  of  this  year,  a  little  before 
Michaelmas,  that  they  brought  Sir  Gregory  Darrell  to  be 
judged  by  the  Queen,  for  notoriously  the  knight  had  been 
Sire  Edward's  adherent.  "Death!"  croaked  Adam  Or- 
leton,  who  sat  to  the  right  hand,  and,  "  Young  de  Spen 
cer's  death!"  amended  the  Earl  of  March,  with  wild 
laughter ;  but  Ysabeau  leaned  back  in  her  great  chair — a 
handsome  woman,  stoutening  now  from  gluttony  and 
from  too  much  wine — and  regarded  her  prisoner  with 
lazy  amiability,  and  devoted  the  silence  to  consideration 
of  how  scantily  the  man  had  changed. 

"And  what  was  your  errand  in  Figgis  Wood?"  she  de 
manded  in  the  ultimate — "or  are  you  mad,  then,  Gregory 
Darrell,  that  you  dare  ride  past  my  gates  alone?" 

He  curtly  said,  "I  rode  for  Ordish." 

Followed  silence.  "Roger,"  the  Queen  ordered,  sharp 
ly*  "give  me  the  paper  which  I  would  not  sign." 

The  Earl  of  March  had  drawn  an  audible  breath.  The 
Bishop  of  London  somewhat  wrinkled  his  shaggy  brows, 
as  a  person  in  shrewd  and  epicurean  amusement,  what 
while  she  subscribed  the  parchment  within  the  moment, 
with  a  great  scrawling  flourish. 

"  Take,  in  the  devil's  name,  the  hire  of  your  dexterities," 

78 


"'MY      PRISONER!'      SHE      SAID" 


rg   nf   tlj? 

said  Ysabeau,  and  pushed  this  document  with  her  wet 
pen-point  toward  March,  "  and  ride  for  Berkeley  now  upon 
that  necessary  business  \ve  know  of.  And  do  the  rest 
of  you  withdraw,  saving  only  my  prisoner — my  prisoner!" 
she  said,  and  laughed  not  very  pleasantly. 

Followed  another  silence.  Queen  Ysabeau  lolled  in 
her  carven  chair,  considering  the  comely  gentleman  who 
stood  before  her,  fettered,  at  the  point  of  shameful  death. 
There  was  a  little  dog  in  the  room  which  had  come  to  the 
Queen,  and  now  licked  the  palm  of  her  left  hand,  and  the 
soft  lapping  of  its  tongue  was  the  only  sound  you  heard. 
"So  at  peril  of  your  life  you  rode  for  Ordish,  then, 
messire?" 

The  tense  man  had  flushed.  "You  have  harried  us 
of  the  King's  party  out  of  England — and  in  reason  I 
might  not  leave  England  without  seeing  her." 

"My  friend,"  said  Ysabeau,  as  half  in  sorrow,  "  I  would 
have  pardoned  anything  save  that."  She  rose.  Her 
face  was  dark  and  hot.  "  By  God  and  all  His  saints!  you 
shall  indeed  leave  England  to-morrow  and  the  world  as 
well!  but  not  without  a  final  glimpse  of  this  same  Rosa 
mund.  Yet  listen :  I,  too,  must  ride  with  you  to  Ordish— 
as  your  sister,  say  —  Gregory,  did  I  not  hang  last  April 
the  husband  of  your  sister?  Yes,  Ralph  de  Belomys, 
a  thin  man  with  eager  eyes,  the  Earl  of  Farrington  he 
was.  As  his  widow  will  I  ride  with  you  to  Ordish,  upon 
condition  you  disclose  to  none  at  Ordish,  saving  only,  if 
you  will,  this  quite  immaculate  Rosamund,  even  a  hint 
of  our  merry  carnival.  And  to-morrow  (you  will  swear 
according  to  the  nicest  obligations  of  honor)  you  must 
ride  back  with  me  to  encounter — that  which  I  may  de 
vise.  For  I  dare  to  trust  your  naked  word  in  this,  and, 
moreover,  I  shall  take  with  me  a  sufficiency  of  retainers 
to  leave  you  no  choice." 

79 


Qlljtttairg 

Darrell  knell  before  her.  "  1  can  do  no  homage  to 
Queen  Ysabeau ;  yet  the  prodigal  hands  of  her  who  knows 
that  I  must  die  to-morrow  and  cunningly  contrives,  for 
old  time's  sake,  to  hearten  me  with  a  sight  of  Rosamund, 
I  cannot  but  kiss."  This  much  he  did.  "And  I  swear 
in  all  things  to  obey  her  will." 

"O  comely  fool!"  the  Queen  said,  not  ungently,  "I 
contrive,  it  may  be,  but  to  demonstrate  that  many  ty 
rants  of  antiquity  were  only  bunglers.  And,  besides,  I 
must  have  other  thoughts  than  that  which  now  occupies 
my  heart:  I  must  this  night  take  holiday,  lest  I  go 
mad." 

Thus  did  the  Queen  arrange  her  holiday. 

"Either  I  mean  to  torture  you  to-morrow,"  Dame 
Ysabeau  said,  presently,  to  Darrell,  as  these  two  rode 
side  by  side,  "  or  else  I  mean  to  free  you.  In  sober  verity 
I  do  not  know.  I  am  in  a  holiday  humor,  and  it  is  as 
the  wrhim  may  take  me.  But  you  indeed  do  love  this 
Rosamund  Eastney?  And  of  course  she  worships  you?" 

"  It  is  my  belief,  madame,  that  when  I  see  her  I  tremble 
visibly,  and  my  weakness  is  such  that  a  child  has  more 
intelligence  than  I — and  toward  such  misery  any  lady 
must  in  common  reason  be  a  little  compassionate." 

Her  hands  had  twitched  so  that  the  astonished  palfrey 
reared.  "I  design  torture,"  the  Queen  said;  "ah,  I  per 
fect  exquisite  torture,  for  you  have  proven  recreant,  you 
have  forgotten  the  maid  Ysabeau — Le  Desir  du  Cuer,  was 
it  not,  my  Gregory?" 

His  palms  clutched  at  heaven.  "That  Ysabeau  is 
dead!  and  all  true  joy  is  destroyed,  and  the  world  lies 
under  a  blight  wherefrom  God  has  averted  an  unfriendly 
face  in  displeasure!  yet  of  all  wretched  persons  existent 
I  am  he  who  endures  the  most  grievous  anguish,  for  daily 
I  partake  of  life  without  any  relish,  and  I  would  in  truth 

So 


nf    tlj? 

deem  him  austerely  kind  who  slew  me  now  that  the 
maiden  Ysabeau  is  dead." 

She  shrugged,  although  but  wearily.  "  I  scent  the  raw 
stuff  of  a  Planh,"  the  Queen  observed;  "  bcnedicitc!  it 
was  ever  your  way,  my  friend,  to  love  a  woman  chiefly 
for  the  verses  she  inspired."  And  she  began  to  sing,  as 
they  rode  through  Baverstock  Thicket. 

Sang  Ysabeau: 

"  Mans  love  hath  many  prom  piers, 

But  a  woman  s  love  hath  none; 
And  he  may  woo  a  nimble  wit 

Or  hair  that  shames  the  sun, 
Whilst  she  must  pick  of  all  one  man 

And  ever  brood  thereon — 
And  for  no  reason, 

And  not  rightly,— 

t(  Save  that  the  plan  was  foreordained 

(More  old  than  Chalccdon, 
Or  any  tower  of  Tar  ski  sh 

Or  of  gleaming  Babylon), 
That  she  must  love  unwillingly 

And  love  till  life  be  done, 
He  for  a  season, 

And  more  lightly." 

So  to  Ordish  in  that  twilight  came  the  Countess  of 
Farrington,  with  a  retinue  of  twenty  men-at-arms,  and 
her  brother  Sir  Gregory  Darrell.  Lord  Berners  received 
the  party  writh  boisterous  hospitality. 

"  And  the  more  for  that  your  sister  is  a  very  handsome 
woman,"  was  Rosamund  Eastney's  comment.  The  pe 
riod  appears  to  have  been  after  supper,  and  she  sat  with 

81 


Gregory  Darrcll  in  not  the  most  brilliant  corner  of  the 
main  hall. 

The  wretched  man  leaned  forward,  bit  his  nether-lip, 
and  then  with  a  sudden  splurge  of  speech  informed  her  of 
the  sorry  masquerade.  "The  she -devil  designs  some 
horrible  and  obscure  mischief,  she  plans  I  know  not 
what." 

"Yet  I—  '  said  Rosamund.  The  girl  had  risen,  and 
she  continued  with  an  odd  inconsequence.  "  You  have 
told  me  you  were  Pembroke's  squire  when  long  ago 
he  sailed  for  France  to  fetch  this  woman  into  Eng- 
land- 

"  Which  you  never  heard!"  Lord  Berners  shouted  at  this 
point.  "Jasper,  a  lute!"  And  then  he  halloaed,  more 
lately,  "Gregory,  Madame  de  Farrington  demands  that 
racy  song  you  made  against  Queen  Ysabcau  during  your 
last  visit." 

Thus  did  the  Queen  begin  her  holiday. 

It  was  a  handsome  couple  which  came  forward,  hand 
quitting  hand  a  shade  too  tardily,  and  the  blinking  eyes 
yet  rapt;  but  these  two  were  not  overpleased  at  being 
disturbed,  and  the  man  in  particular  was  troubled,  as 
in  reason  he  well  might  be,  by  the  task  assigned 
him . 

"Is  it,  indeed,  your  will,  my  sister,"  he  said,  "that  I 
should  sing — this  song?" 

"It  is  my  will,"  the  Countess  said. 

And  the  knight  flung  back  his  comely  head  and 
laughed.  "What  I  have  written  I  shall  not  disown  in 
any  company.  It  is  not,  look  you,  of  my  own  choice 
that  I  sing,  my  sister.  Yet  if  she  bade  me  would  I  sing 
this  song  as  willingly  before  Queen  Ysabeau,  for.  Christ 
aid  me!  the  song  is  true." 

Sang  Sir  Gregory: 

82 


"  \)ame  Ysabeau,  la  prophecie 
Que  li  sage  dit  nc  mcnt  mie, 
Que  la  royne  sut  ecus  grevcr 
Qui  tantost  laquais  sot  aynier — " 

and  so  on.  It  was  a  lengthy  ditty  and  in  its  wording  not 
oversqueamish ;  the  Queen's  career  in  England  was  de 
tailed  without  any  stuttering,  and  you  would  have  found 
the  catalogue  unhandsome.  Yet  Sir  Gregory  sang  it  with 
an  incisive  gusto,  though  it  seemed  to  him  to  counter 
sign  his  death-warrant;  and  with  the  vigor  that  a  man 
gled  snake  summons  for  its  last  hideous  stroke,  it  seemed 
to  Ysabeau  regretful  of  an  ancient  spring. 

Nicolas  gives  this  ballad  in  full,  but,  and  for  obvious 
reasons,  his  translator  would  prefer  to  do  otherwise. 

Only  the  minstrel  added,  though  Lord  Berners  did  not 
notice  it,  a  fire-new  peroration. 

Sang  Sir  Gregory: 

"  Ma  voix  mocque,  mon  cuer  gemit— 
Pen  pense  a  ce  que  la  voix  dit, 
Car  me  membre  du  temps  jadis 
Et  d'ung  garson,  d'amour  surpris, 
Et  dune  fille — et  la  vois  si— 
Et  grandement  suis  esbahi." 

And  when  Darrell  had  ended,  the  Countess  of  Farring- 
ton,  without  speaking,  swept  her  left  hand  toward  her 
cheek  and  by  pure  chance  caught  between  thumb  and 
forefinger  the  autumn-numbed  fly  that  had  annoyed  her. 
She  drew  the  little  dagger  from  her  girdle  and  medita 
tively  cut  the  buzzing  thing  in  two.  Then  she  flung 
the  fragments  from  her,  and  resting  the  dagger's  point 
upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  one  forefinger  upon  the 
'  83 


summit   of  the   hilt,    considerately  twirled   the   brilliant 
weapon. 

"This  song  does  not  err  upon  the  side  of  clemency," 
she  said  at  last,  "nor  by  ordinary  does  Queen  Ysabeau." 

"That  she-wolf!"  said  Lord  Berners,  comfortably. 
"  Hoo,  Madame  Gertrude!  since  the  Prophet  Moses  wrung 
healing  waters  from  a  rock  there  has  been  no  such  miracle 
recorded." 

"We  read,  Messire  de  Berners,  that  when  the  she-wolf 
once  acknowledges  a  master  she  will  follow  him  as  faith 
fully  as  any  dog.  Nay,  my  brother,  I  do  not  question 
your  sincerity,  yet  you  sing  with  the  voice  of  an  unhon- 
ored  courtier.  Suppose  Queen  Ysabeau  had  heard  your 
song  all  through  and  then  had  said — for  she  is  not  as  the 
run  of  women — 'Messire,  I  had  thought  till  this  there 
was  no  thorough  man  in  England  saving  Roger  Morti 
mer.  I  find  him  tawdry  now,  and — I  remember.  Come 
you,  then,  and  rule  the  England  that  you  love  as  you  may 
love  no  woman,  and  rule  me,  messire,  for  I  find  even  in 
your  cruelty — England!  bah,  we  are  no  pygmies,  you  and 
I!'"  the  Countess  said  with  a  great  voice;  "'yonder  is 
squabbling  Europe  and  all  the  ancient  gold  of  Africa, 
ready  for  our  taking!  and  past  that  lies  Asia,  too,  and  its 
painted  houses  hung  with  bells,  and  cloud-wrapt  Tar- 
tary,  wherein  we  twain  may  yet  erect  our  equal  thrones, 
whereon  to  receive  the  tributary  emperors!  For  we 
are  no  pygmies,  you  and  I."  She  paused  and  more 
lately  shrugged.  "Suppose  Queen  Ysabeau  had  said 
this  much,  my  brother?" 

Darrell  was  more  pallid,  as  the  phrase  is,  than  a  sheet, 
and  the  lute  had  dropped  unheeded,  and  his  hands  were 
clenched. 

"  I  would  answer,  my  sister,  that  as  she  has  found  in 
England  but  one  man,  I  have  found  in  England  but  one 

84 


0f   tlte 

woman — the  rose  of  all  the  world."  His  eyes  were  turned 
at  this  toward  Rosamund  Eastney.  "  And  yet,"  the  man 
stammered,  "for  that  I,  too,  remember— 

"Nay,  in  God's  name!  I  am  answered,"  the  Countess 
said.  She  rose,  in  dignity  almost  a  queen.  "We  have 
ridden  far  to-day,  and  to-morrow  we  must  travel  a  deal 
farther— eh,  my  brother?  I  am  a  trifle  overspent,  Mes- 
sire  de  Berners."  And  her  face  had  now  the  weary 
beauty  of  an  idol's. 

So  the  men  and  women  parted.  Madame  de  Farring- 
ton  kissed  her  brother  in  leaving  him,  as  was  natural ;  and 
under  her  caress  his  stalwart  person  shuddered,  but  not 
in  repugnance;  and  the  Queen  went  bed  ward  regretful 
of  an  ancient  spring  and  singing  hushedly. 

Sang  Ysabeau: 

"  Were  the  All-Mother  wise,  life  (shaped  anotherwise) 

Would  be  all  high  and  true; 
Could  I  be  otherwise  I  had  been  otherwise 
Simply  because  of  you, 
Who  are  no  longer  you. 

"  Life  with  its  pay  to  be  bade  its  essay  to  be 

What  we  became, — /  believe 
Were  there  a  way  to  be  what  it  was  play  to  be 
I  would  not  greatly  grieve  .  .  . 
And  I  neither  laugh  nor  grieve!" 

Ysabeau  would  have  slept  that  night  within  the  cham 
ber  of  Rosamund  Eastney  had  either  slept  at  all.  As 
concerns  the  older  I  say  nothing.  The  girl,  though  soon 
aware  of  frequent  rustlings  near  at  hand,  lay  quiet, 
half-forgetful  of  the  poisonous  woman  yonder.  The 
girl  was  now  fulfilled  with  a  great  blaze  of  exultation; 

85 


(ttljttiairg 

to-morrow  Gregory  must  die,  and  then  perhaps  she  might 
find  time  for  tears;  but  meanwhile,  before  her  eyes,  the 
man  had  flung  away  a  kingdom  and  life  itself  for  love  of 
her,  and  the  least  nook  of  her  heart  ached  to  be  a  shade 
more  worthy  of  the  sacrifice. 

After  it  might  have  been  an  hour  of  this  excruciate 
ecstasy  the  Countess  came  to  Rosamund's  bed.  "Ay," 
the  woman  hollowly  began,  "it  is  indisputable  that  his 
hair  is  like  spun  gold  and  that  his  eyes  resemble  sun 
drenched  waters  in  June.  And  that  when  this  Gregory 
laughs  God  is  more  happy.  Ma  belle,  I  was  familiar 
with  the  routine  of  your  meditations  ere  you  were  born." 

Rosamund  said,  quite  simply:  "You  have  known  him 
always.  I  envy  the  circumstance,  Madame  Gertrude— 
you  alone  of  all  women  in  the  world  I  envy,  since  you, 
his  sister,  being  so  much  older,  must  have  known  him 
always." 

"I  know  him  to  the  core,  my  girl,"  the  Countess  an 
swered,  and  afterward  sat  silent,  one  bare  foot  jogging 
restlessly;  "yet  am  I  two  years  the  junior —  Did  you 
hear  nothing,  Rosamund?" 

"Nay,  Madame  Gertrude,  I  heard  nothing." 

"Strange!"  the  Countess  said;  "let  us  have  lights,  since 
I  can  no  longer  endure  the  overpopulous  darkness."  She 
kindled,  with  twitching  fingers,  three  lamps  and  looked 
in  vain  for  more.  "It  is  as  yet  dark  yonder,  where  the 
shadows  quiver  very  oddly,  as  though  they  would  rise 
from  the  floor — do  they  not,  my  girl  ? — and  protest  vain 
things.  Nay,  Rosamund,  it  has  been  done;  in  the  mo 
ment  of  death  men's  souls  have  travelled  farther  and  have 
been  visible ;  it  has  been  done,  I  tell  you.  And  he  would 
stand  before  me,  with  pleading  eyes,  and  reproach  me 
in  a  voice  too  faint  to  reach  my  ears — but  I  would  see 
him—and  his  groping  hands  would  clutch  at  my  hands 

86 


as  though  a  dropped  veil  had  touehed  me,  and  with  the 
contact  I  would  go  mad!" 

''Madame  Gertrude!"  the  girl  now  stammered,  in  com 
municated  terror. 

"Poor  innocent  dastard!"  the  woman  said,  "I  am 
Ysabeau  of  France."  And  when  Rosamund  made  as 
though  to  rise,  in  alarm,  Queen  Ysabeau  caught  her 
by  the  shoulder.  "  Bear  witness  when  he  comes  I  never 
hated  him.  Yet  for  my  quiet  it  was  necessary  that  it 
suffer  so  cruelly,  the  scented,  pampered  body,  and  no 
mark  be  left  upon  it!  Eia!  even  now  he  suffers!  Nay, 
I  have  lied.  I  hate  the  man,  and  in  such  fashion  as  you 
will  comprehend  only  when  you  are  Sarum's  wife." 

"Madame  and  Queen!"  the  girl  said,  "you  will  not 
murder  me!" 

"I  am  tempted!"  the  Queen  hissed.  "O  little  slip  of 
girlhood,  I  am  tempted,  for  it  is  not  reasonable  you  should 
possess  everything  that  I  have  lost.  Innocence  you 
have,  and  youth,  and  untroubled  eyes,  and  quiet  dreams, 
and  the  glad  beauty  of  the  devil,  and  Gregory  Darren's 
love — "  Now  Ysabeau  sat  down  upon  the  bed  and 
caught  up  the  girl's  face  between  two  fevered  hands. 
"Rosamund,  this  Darrell  perceives  within  the  moment, 
as  I  do,  that  the  love  he  bears  for  you  is  but  what  he  re 
members  of  the  love  he  bore  a  certain  maid  long  dead. 
Eh,  you  might  have  been  her  sister,  Rosamund,  for  you 
are  very  like  her.  And  she,  poor  wench — why,  I  could 
see  her  now,  I  think,  were  my  eyes  not  blurred,  somehow, 
almost  as  though  Queen  Ysabeau  might  weep!  But  she 
was  handsomer  than  you,  since  your  complexion  is  not 
overclear,  praise  God!" 

Woman  against  wotnan  they  were.  "  He  has  told  me 
of  his  intercourse  with  you,"  the  girl  said,  and  this  was  a 
lie  flatfooted.  "Nay,  kill  me  if  you  will,  madame,  since 

87 


you  are  the  stronger,  yet,  with  my  dying  breath,  Gregory 
has  loved  but  me." 

"Ma  belle,"  the  Queen  answered,  and  laughed  bitterly, 
"do  I  not  know  men?     He  told  you  nothing.     And  to 
night  he  hesitated,  and  to-morrow,  at  the  lifting  of  my 
finger,  he  will  supplicate.     Throughout  his  life  has  Greg 
ory  Barrel]  loved  me,  O  white,  palsied  innocence!  and  he 
is  mine  at  a  whistle.     And  in  that  time  to  come  he  will 
desert  you,   Rosamund — though  with  a  pleasing  Canzon 
—and  they  will  give  you  to  the  gross  Earl  of  Sarum,  as 
they  gave  me  to  the  painted  man  who  was  of  late  our 
King!  and  in  that  time  to  come  you  will  know  your  body 
to  be  your  husband's  makeshift  when  he  lacks" leisure  to 
seek  out  other  recreation!  and  in  that  time  to  come  you 
will  long  at  first  for  death,  and  presently  your  heart  will 
be  a   flame  within   you,   my  Rosamund,     an    insatiable 
flame!  and  you  will  hate  your  God  because  He  made  you, 
and  hate  Satan  because  in  some  desperate  hour  he  tricked 
you,  and  hate  all  masculinity  because,  poor  fools,  they 
scurry  to  obey  your  whim !  and  chiefly  hate  yourself  be 
cause  you  are  so  pitiable!  and  devastation  only  will  you 
love  in  that  strange  time  which  is  to  come.     It  is  adjacent, 
my  Rosamund." 

The  girl  kept  silence.  She  sat  erect  in  the  tumbled 
bed,  her  hands  clasping  her  knees,  and  appeared  to  de 
liberate  what  Dame  Ysabeau  had  said.  The  plentiful 
brown  hair  fell  about  this  Rosamund's  face,  which  was 
white  and  shrewd.  "A  part  of  what  you  say,  madame, 
I  understand.  I  know  that  Gregory  Darrell  loves  me,' 
yet  I  have  long  ago  acknowledged  he  loves  me  but  as  one 
pets  a  child,  or,  let  us  say,  a  spaniel  which  reveres  and 
amuses  one.  I  lack  his  wit,  you  comprehend,  and  so  he 
never  speaks  to  me  all  that  he  thinks.  Yet  a  part  of  it 
he  tells  me,  and  he  loves  me,  and  with  this  I  am  content. 

88 


nru    0f   ilj? 

Assuredly,  if  they  give  me  to  Sarum  I  shall  hate  Sarum 
even  more  than  I  detest  him  now.  And  then,  I  think, 
Heaven  help  me!  that  I  would  not  greatly  grieve—  Oh, 
you  are  all  evil!"  Rosamund  said;  "and  you  thrust 
thoughts  into  my  mind  I  may  not  grapple  with!" 

"You  will  comprehend  them,"  the  Queen  said,  "when 
you  know  yourself  a  chattel,  bought  and  paid  for." 

The  Queen  laughed.  She  rose,  and  either  hand 
strained  toward  heaven.  "You  are  omnipotent,  yet  have 
You  let  me  become  that  into  which  I  am  transmuted," 
she  said,  very  low. 

Anon  she  began,  as  though  a  statue  spoke  through 
motionless  and  pallid  lips.  "They  have  long  urged  me, 
Rosamund,  to  a  deed  which  by  one  stroke  would  make 
me  mistress  of  these  islands.  To-day  I  looked  on  Gregory 
Darrell,  and  knew  that  I  was  wise  in  love — and  I  had  but 
to  crush  a  filthy  worm  to  come  to  him.  Eh,  and  I  was 
tempted — !" 

The  fearless  girl  said :  "Let  us  grant  that  Gregory  loves 
you  very  greatly,  and  me  just  when  his  leisure  serves. 
You  may  offer  him  a  cushioned  infamy,  a  colorful  and 
brief  delirium,  and  afterward  demolishment  of  soul  and 
body;  I  offer  him  contentment  and  a  level  life,  made  up 
of  tiny  happenings,  it  may  be,  and  lacking  both  in  abysses 
and  in  skyey  heights.  Yet  is  love  a  flame  wherein  must 
the  lover's  soul  be  purified,  as  an  ore  by  fire,  even  to  its 
own  discredit;  and  thus,  madame,  to  judge  between  us 
I  dare  summon  you." 

"Child,  child!"  the  Queen  said,  tenderly,  and  with  a 
smile,  "you  are  brave;  and  in  your  fashion  you  are  wise; 
yet  you  will  never  comprehend.  But  once  I  was  in  heart 
and  soul  and  body  all  that  you  are  to-day ;  and  now  I  am 
Queen  Ysabeau.  Assuredly,  it  would  be  hard  to  yield 
my  single  chance  of  happiness;  it  would  be  hard  to  know 

SQ 


QUjtnalrg 

that  Gregory  Darrell  must  presently  dwindle  into  an  ox 
well-pastured,  and  garner  of  life  no  more  than  any  ox; 
but  to  say,  'Let  this  girl  become  as  I,  and  garner  that 
which  I  have  garnered — !'  Did  you  in  truth  hear 
nothing,  Rosamund  ?" 

"Why,  nothing  save  the  wind." 

"Strange!"  said  the  Queen;  "since  all  the  while  that  1 
have  talked  with  you  I  have  been  seriously  annoyed  by 
shrieks  and  various  imprecations!  But  I,  too,  grow  cow 
ardly,  it  maybe—  Nay,  I  know,"  she  said,  and  in  a  reso 
nant  voice,  "  that  I  am  by  this  mistress  of  broad  England, 
until  my  son — my  own  son,  born  of  my  body,  and  in  glad 
anguish,  Rosamund— knows  me  for  what  I  am.  For  I 
have  heard—  Coward!  O  beautiful  sleek  coward!"  the 
Queen  said;  "I  would  have  died  without  lamentation 
and  I  was  but  your  plaything!" 

"Madame  Ysabeau — !"  the  girl  stammered,  and  ran 
toward  her,  for  the  girl  had  risen,  and  she  was  terrified. 

"To  bed!"  said  Ysabeau;  "and  put  out  the  lights  lest 
he  come  presently.  Or  perhaps  he  fears  me  now  too  much 
to  come  to-night.  Yet  the  night  approaches,  none  the 
less,  when  I  must  lift  some  arras  and  find  him  there, 
chalk-white,  with  painted  cheeks,  and  rigid,  and  smiling 
very  terribly,  or  look  into  some  mirror  and  behold  there 
not  myself  but  him  —  and  in  that  instant  I  will  die. 
Meantime  I  rule,  until  my  son  attains  his  manhood.  Eh, 
Rosamund,  my  only  son  was  once  so  tiny,  and  so  helpless, 
and  his  little  crimson  mouth  groped  toward  me,  helplessly, 
and  save  in  Bethlehem,  I  thought,  there  was  never  any 
child  more  fair —  But  I  must  forget  all  that,  for  even 
now  he  plots.  Hey,  God  orders  matters  very  shrewdly, 
my  Rosamund." 

And  timidly  the  girl  touched  one  shoulder.  "  In  part,  I 
Understand,  madame  and  Queen." 

go 


"You  understand  nothing,"  said  Ysabeau;  "how 
should  you  understand  whose  breasts  are  yet  so  tiny  ? 
Nay,  put  out  the  light!  though  I  dread  the  darkness, 
Rosamund—  For  they  say  that  hell  is  poorly  lighted 
— and  they  say—  Then  Queen  Ysabeau  shrugged. 
Herself  blew  out  each  lamp. 

"We  know  this  Gregory  Darrell,"  the  Queen  said  in 
the  darkness,  and  aloud,  "  ay,  to  the  marrow  we  know  him, 
however  steadfastly  we  blink,  and  we  know  the  present 
turmoil  of  his  soul;  and  in  common-sense  what  chance 
have  you  of  victory?" 

"  None  in  common -sense,  madame,  and  yet  you  go  too 
fast.  For  man  is  a  being  of  mingled  nature,  we  are  told 
by  those  in  holy  orders,  and  his  life  here  but  one  unending 
warfare  between  that  which  is  divine  in  him  and  that 
which  is  bestial,  while  impartial  Heaven  attends  as  arbiter 
of  the  cruel  tourney.  Always  his  judgment  misleads  the 
man,  and  his  faculties  allure  him  to  a  truce,  however 
brief,  with  iniquity.  His  senses  raise  a.  mist  about  his 
goings,  and  there  is  not  an  endowment  of  the  man  but  in 
the  end  plays  traitor  to  his  interest,  as  of  His  wisdom 
God  intends;  so  that  when  the  man  is  overthrown,  God 
the  Eternal  Father  may,  in  reason,  be  neither  vexed  nor 
grieved  if  only  he  takes  heart  to  rise  again.  And  when, 
betrayed  and  impotent,  the  man  elects  to  fight  out  the 
allotted  battle,  defiant  of  common-sense  and  of  the 
counsellors  which  God  Himself  accorded,  I  think  that  they 
hold  festival  in  heaven." 

"A  very  pretty  sermon,"  said  the  Queen,  and  with 
premeditation  yawned. 

Followed  a  silence,  vexed  only  on  the  purposeless 
September  winds ;  but  I  believe  that  neither  of  these  two 
slept  with  an  inappropriate  profundity. 

About  dawn  one  of  the  Queen's  attendants  roused  Sir 

91 


QUjtnalrg 

Gregory  Darrell  and  presently  conducted  him  into  the 
hedged  garden  of  Ordish,  where  Ysabeau  walked  in  tran 
quil  converse  with  Lord  Berners.  The  old  man  was  in 
high  good-humor. 

"My  lad,"  said  he,  and  Happed  Sir  Gregory  upon  the 
shoulder,  "you  have,  I  do  protest,  the  very  phoenix  of 
sisters.  I  was  never  happier."  And  he  went  away 
chuckling. 

The  Queen  said  in  a  toneless  voice,  "We  ride  for 
Blackfriars  now." 

Darrell  responded,  "  I  am  content,  and  ask  but  leave  to 
speak,  and  briefly,  with  Dame  Rosamund  before  I  die." 

Then  the  woman  came  more  near  to  him.  "  I  am  not 
used  to  beg,  but  within  this  hour  you  die,  and  I  have 
loved  no  man  in  all  my  life  saving  only  you,  Sir  Gregory 
Darrell.  Nor  have  you  loved  any  person  as  you  loved 
me  once  in  France.  Nay,  to-day,  I  may  speak  freely, 
for  with  you  the  doings  of  that  boy  and  girl  are  matters 
overpast.  Yet  were  it  otherwise — eh,  weigh  the  matter 
carefully!  for  absolute  mistress  of  England  am  I  now, 
and  entire  England  would  I  give  you,  and  such  love  as  that 
slim,  white  innocence  has  never  dreamed  of  would  I  give 
you,  Gregory  Darrell—  No,  no!  ah,  Mother  of  God,  not 
you!"  The  Queen  clapped  one  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"Listen,"  she  quickly  said,  as  a  person  in  the  crisis  of 
panic;  "  I  spoke  to  tempt  you.  But  you  saw,  and  clearly, 
that  it  was  the  sickly  whim  of  a  wanton,  and  you  never 
dreamed  of  yielding,  for  you  love  this  Rosamund  Eastney, 
and  you  know  me  to  be  vile.  Then  have  a  care  of  me! 
The  strange  woman  am  I  of  whom  we  read  that  her  house 
is  the  way  to  hell,  going  down  to  the  chambers  of  death. 
Yea,  many  strong  men  have  been  slain  by  me,  and 
futurely  will  many  others  be  slain,  it  may  be;  but  never 
you  among  them,  my  Gregory,  who  are  more  wary,  and 

92 


IHurg    of   tlj? 

more  merciful,  and  know  that  I  have  need  to  lay  aside  at 
least  one  comfortable  thought  against  eternity." 

"I  concede  you  to  have  been  unwise—  '  he  hoarsely 
said. 

About  them  fell  the  dying  leaves,  of  many  glorious 
colors,  but  the  air  of  this  new  day  seemed  raw  and  chill. 

Then  Rosamund  came  through  the  opening  in  the  hedge. 
"Nay,  choose,"  she  wearily  said;  "the  woman  offers  life 
and  empery  and  wealth,  and  it  may  be,  even  a  greater 
love  than  I  am  capable  of  giving  you.  I  offer  a  dis 
honorable  death  within  the  moment." 

And  again,  with  that  peculiar  and  imperious  gesture, 
the  man  flung  back  his  head,  and  he  laughed.  "  I  am  1! 
and  I  will  so  to  live  that  I  may  face  without  shame  not 
only  God,  but  even  my  own  scrutiny."  He  wheeled  upon 
the  Queen  and  spoke  henceforward  very  leisurely.  "  I 
love  you;  all  my  life  long  I  have  loved  you,  Ysabeau, 
and  even  now  I  love  you;  and  you,  too,  dear  Rosamund, 
I  love,  though  with  a  difference.  And  every  fibre  of  my 
being  lusts  for  the  power  that  you  would  give  me,  Ysabeau, 
and  for  the  good  which  I  would  do  with  it  in  the  England 
I  or  Roger  Mortimer  must  rule;  as  every  fibre  of  my 
being  lusts  for  the  man  that  I  would  be  could  I  choose 
death  without  debate,  and  for  the  man  which  you  would 
make  of  me,  my  Rosamund. 

"The  man!  And  what  is  this  man,  this  Gregory 
Darrell,  that  his  welfare  be  considered? — an  ape  who 
chatters  to  himself  of  kinship  with  the  archangels  while 
filthily  he  digs  for  groundnuts!  This  much  I  know,  at 
bottom,  durst  I  but  be  honest. 

"Yet  more  clearly  do  I  perceive  that  this  same  man, 
like  all  his  fellows,  is  a  maimed  god  who  walks  the  world 
dependent  upon  many  wise  and  evil  counsellors.  He 
must  measure,  and  to  a  hair's-breadth,  every  content  of 

93 


QUjtttalrg 

the  world  by  means  of  a  bloodied  sponge,  tucked  some 
where  in  his  skull,  which  is  ungeared  by  the  first  cup  of 
wine  and  ruined  by  the  touch  of  his  own  finger.  He 
must  appraise  all  that  he  judges  with  no  better  instru 
ments  than  two  bits  of  colored  jelly,  with  a  bungling 
makeshift  so  maladroit  that  the  nearest  horologer's  ap 
prentice  could  have  devised  a  more  accurate  device.  In 
fine,  he  is  under  penalty  condemned  to  compute  eternity 
with  false  weights  and  to  estimate  infinity  with  a  yard 
stick:  and  he  very  often  does  it.  For  though,  'If  then 
I  do  that  which  I  would  not  I  consent  unto  the  law,' 
saith  even  the  Apostle;  yet  the  braver  Pagan  answers 
him,  'Perceive  at  last  that  thou  hast  in  thee  something 
better  and  more  divine  than  the  things  which  cause 
the  various  effects  and,  as  it  were,  pull  thee  by  the 
strings.' 

"There  lies  the  choice  which  every  man  must  make— 
or  rationally,  as  his  reason  goes,  to  accept  his  own  limita 
tions  and  make  the  best  of  his  allotted  prison-yard?  or 
stupendously  to  play  the  fool  and  swear  even  to  himself 
(while  his  own  judgment  shrieks  and  proves  a  flat  denial), 
that  he  is  at  will  omnipotent  ?  You  have  chosen  long  ago, 
my  poor  proud  Ysabeau;  and  I  choose  now,  and  dif 
ferently:  for  poltroon  that  I  am!  being  now  in  a  cold 
drench  of  terror,  I  steadfastly  protest  I  am  not  much 
afraid,  and  I  choose  death,  madame." 

It  was  toward  Rosamund  that  the  Queen  looked,  and 
smiled  a  little  pitifully.  "Should  Queen  Ysabeau  be 
angry  or  vexed  or  very  cruel  now,  my  Rosamund  ?  for 
at  bottom  she  is  glad." 

More  lately  the  Queen  said:  "I  give  you  back  your 
plighted  word.  I  ride  homeward  to  my  husks,  but  you 
remain.  Or  rather,  the  Countess  of  Farrington  departs 
for  the  convent  of  Ambresbury,  disconsolate  in  her 

94 


JHnrjj    0f   tlj? 

widowhood  and  desirous  to  have  done  with  worldly 
affairs.  It  is  most  natural  she  should  relinquish  to  her 
beloved  and  only  brother  all  her  dower-lands — or  so  at 
least  Messire  de  Berners  acknowledges.  Here,  then,  is 
the  grant,  my  Gregory,  that  conveys  to  you  those  lands 
of  Ralph  de  Belomys  which  last  year  I  confiscated. 
And  this  tedious  Messire  de  Berners  is  willing  now — nay, 
desirous — to  have  you  for  a  son-in-law." 

About  them  fell  the  dying  leaves,  of  many  glorious 
colors,  but  the  air  of  this  new  day  seemed  raw  and  chill, 
what  while,  very  calmly,  Dame  Ysabeau  took  Sir  Gregory's 
hand  and  laid  it  upon  the  hand  of  Rosamund  Eastney. 
"Our  paladin  is,  in  the  outcome,  a  mortal  man,  and 
therefore  I  do  not  altogether  envy  you.  Yet  he  has  his 
moments,  and  you  are  capable.  Serve,  then,  not  only 
his  desires  but  mine  also,  dear  Rosamund." 

There  was  a  silence.  The  girl  spoke  as  though  it  was 
a  sacrament.  "I  will,  madame  and  Queen." 

Thus  did  the  Queen  end  her  holiday. 

A  little  later  the  Countess  of  Farrington  rode  from 
Ordish  with  all  her  train  save  one ;  and  riding  from  that 
place,  where  love  was,  she  sang  very  softly,  and  as  to 
herself. 

Sang  Ysabeau: 

"As  with  her  dupes  dealt  Circe 
Life  deals  with  hers,  par  die! 
Reshaping  without  mercy, 
And  shaping  swinishly, 
To  wallow  swinishly, 
And  for  eternity— 

"Though,  harder  than  the  witch  was, 

Life,  changing  ne  er  the  whole, 

95 


(E  1]  t  u  a  I  r  y 

Transmutes  the  body,  which  was 
Proud  garment  of  the  soul, 
And  briefly  drugs  the  soul, 
Whose  ruin  is  her  goal— 

"And  means  by  this  thereafter 

A  subtler  mirth  to  get, 
And  mock  with  bitterer  laughter 
Her  helpless  dupes'  regret, 
Their  swinish  dull  regret 
For  what  they  half  forget." 

And  within  the  hour  came  Hubert  Frayne  to  Ordish, 
on  a  foam-specked  horse,  as  he  rode  to  announce  to  the 
King's  men  the  King's  barbaric  murder  overnight,  at 
Berkeley  Castle,  by  Queen  Ysabeau's  order. 

"Ride  southward,"  said  Lord  Berners,  and  panted  as 
they  buckled  on  his  disused  armor ;  "but  harkee,  Frayne! 
if  you  pass  the  Countess  of  Farrington's  company,  speak 
no  syllable  of  your  news,  since  it  is  not  convenient  that 
a  lady  so  thoroughly  and  so  praise  worthily— Lord,  Lord, 
how  I  have  fattened! — so  intent  on  holy  things,  in  fine, 
should  have  her  meditations  disturbed  by  any  such  un 
settling  tidings.  Hey,  son-in-law?" 

Sir  Gregory  Darrell  laughed,  and  very  bitterly.  "He 
that  is  without  blemish  among  you —  '  he  said.  Then 
they  armed  completely. 


THE  END  OF  THE  FOURTH  NOVEL 


V 
nf 


"  Selh  qite  m  bias  ma  vostr'  amor  ni  m  dcfcn 
Non  podon  far  en  re  mon  cor  niellor, 
Ni'l  dons  dezir  qiiieu  ai  de  vos  major, 
Ni  I'enveya'  nil  dezir,  nil  talent 


THE  FIFTH  NOVEL. — PHILIPPA  OF  HAINAULT  DARES  TO 
LOVE  UNTHRIFTILY,  AND  BY  THE  PRODIGALITY  OF  HER 
AFFECTION  SHAMES  TREACHERY,  AND  COMMON-SENSE, 
AND  HIGH  ROMANCE,  QUITE  STOLIDLY;  BUT,  AS  LOVING 
GOES,  IS  OVERTOPPED  BY  HER  MORE  STOLID  SQUIRE. 


of  tlj? 


?N  the  year  of  graee  1326,  upon  Walburga's 
V  Eve,  some  three  hours  after  sunset  (thus 
Nicolas  begins)  ,  had  you  visited  a  certain 
garden  on  the  outskirts  of  Valenciennes, 
(you  might  there  have  stumbled  upon  a 
_^  big,  handsome  boy,  prone  on  the  turf, 
where  by  turns  he  groaned  and  vented  himself  in  sullen 
curses.  The  profanity  had  its  poor  palliation.  Heir  to 
England  though  he  was,  you  must  know  that  his  father 
in  the  flesh  had  hounded  him  from  England,  as  more 
recently  his  uncle  Charles  the  Handsome  had  driven 
him  from  France.  Now  had  this  boy's  mother  and  he 
come  as  suppliants  to  the  court  of  that  stalwart  noble 
man  Sire  William  (Count  of  Hainault,  Holland,  and 
Zealand,  and  Lord  of  Friesland),  where  their  arrival  had 
evoked  the  suggestion  that  they  depart  at  their  earliest 
convenience.  To-morrow,  then,  these  footsore  royalties, 
the  Queen  of  England  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  would 
be  thrust  out-o'-doors  to  resume  the  weary  beggarship, 
to  knock  again  upon  the  obdurate  gates  of  thisunsym- 
pathizing  king  or  that  deaf  emperor. 

Accordingly  the  boy  aspersed  his  destiny.  At  hand  a 
nightingale  carolled  as  though  an  exiled  prince  were  the 
blithest  spectacle  the  moon  knew. 

There  came  through  the  gcirden  a  tall  girl,  running,  stum 
bling  in  her  haste.     "  I  lail,  King  of  England!  "  she  panted. 
8  99 


(Eljtttalrg 

"Do  not  mock  me,  Philippa!"  the  boy  half-sobbed. 
Sulkily  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"No  mockery  here,  my  fair  sweet  friend.  Nay,  I  have 
told  my  father  all  which  happened  yesterday.  I  pleaded 
for  you.  He  questioned  me  very  closely.  And  when 
I  had  ended,  he  stroked  his  beard,  and  presently  struck 
one  hand  upon  the  table.  'Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes!' 
he  said.  Then  he  said:  'My  dear,  I  believe  for  certain 
that  this  lady  and  her  son  have  been  driven  from  their 
kingdom  wrongfully.  If  it  be  for  the  good  of  God  to 
comfort  the  afflicted,  how  much  more  is  it  commend 
able  to  help  and  succor  one  who  is  the  daughter  of 
a  king,  descended  from  royal  lineage,  and  to  whose 
blood  we  ourselves  are  related!'  And  accordingly  he 
and  your  mother  have  their  heads  together  yonder, 
planning  an  invasion  of  England,  no  less,  and  the 
dethronement  of  your  wicked  father,  my  Edward.  And 
accordingly — hail,  King  of  England  !"  The  girl  clapped 
her  hands  gleefully,  what  time  the  nightingale  sang 
on. 

But  the  boy  kept  momentary  silence.  Even  in  youth 
the  Plantagenets  were  never  handicapped  by  excessively 
tender  hearts;  yesterday  in  the  shrubbery  the  boy  had 
kissed  this  daughter  of  Count  William,  in  part  because 
she  was  a  healthy  and  handsome  person,  and  partly,  and 
with  consciousness  of  the  fact,  as  a  necessitated  hazard 
of  futurity.  Well!  he  had  found  chance- taking  not  un 
fortunate.  With  the  episode  as  foundation,  Count 
William  had  already  builded  up  the  future  queenship  of 
England.  A  wealthy  count  could  do — and,  as  it  seemed, 
was  now  in  train  to  do — indomitable  deeds  to  serve  his 
son-in-law;  and  now  the  beggar  of  five  minutes  since 
foresaw  himself,  with  this  girl's  love  as  ladder,  mounting 
to  the  high  habitations  of  the  King  of  England,  the 

100 


Lord  of  Ireland,  and  the  Duke  of  Aquitainc.  Thus  they 
would  herald  him.  ;:....  .  ,-.••• 

So  he  embraced  the  girl.  "  Hall/ Qice'it"  of  England!" 
said  the  Prince;  and  then,  "  If- -I  .forge W,-'.  ;*His:  voice 
broke  awkwardly.  ' '  My  dear,  if. ever rl .forgetful "  ' :  '•T'Heir 
lips  met  now,  \vhat  time  the  nightingale  discoursed  as  on 
a  wager. 

Presently  was  mingled  with  the  bird's  descant  low 
singing  of  another  kind.  Beyond  the  yew-hedge  as  these 
two  stood  silent,  breast  to  breast,  passed  young  Jehan 
Kuypelant,  the  Brabant  page,  fitting  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  a  lute  his  paraphrase  of  the  song  \vhich  Archi- 
lochus  of  Sicyon  very  anciently  made  in  honor  of  Venus 
Melaenis,  the  tender  Venus  of  the  Dark. 

At  a  gap  in  the  hedge  the  Brabanter  paused.  His 
melody  was  hastily  gulped.  You  saw,  while  these  two 
stood  heart  hammering  against  heart,  his  lean  face 
silvered  by  the  moonlight,  his  mouth  a  tiny  abyss. 
Followed  the  beat  of  lessening  footsteps,  while  the  night 
ingale  improvised  his  envoi. 

But  earlier  Jehan  Kuypelant  also  had  sung,  as  though 
in  rivalry  with  the  bird. 

Sang  Jehan  Kuypelant: 

''Hearken  and  heed,  Melanis! 

For  all  that  the  litany  ceased 
When  Time  had  taken  the  victim, 

And  -flouted  thy  pale-lipped  priest, 
And  set  astir  in  the  temple 

Where  burned  the  fire  of  thy  shrine 
The  owls  and  wolves  of  the  desert — 

Yet  hearken,   (the  issue  is  thine!) 
And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 

At  last,  at  last,  be  mine! 

10  I 


"For  I  have  followed,  nor  faltered — 

Adrift  in  a  land  of  dreams 
Where'  fa/tighter  and  loving  and  wonder 

Contend  a?  a  clamor  of  streams, 
1  have'- seen" and  adored  the  Sidonian, 

Implacable,  fair  and  divine — 
And  bending  low,  have  implored  thee 

To  hearken,   (the  issue  is  thine!) 
And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 

At  last,  at  last,  be  mine!" 

It  is  time,  however,  that  we  quit  this  subject  and  speak 
of  other  matters.  Just  twenty  years  later,  on  one  August 
day  in  the  year  of  grace  1346,  Master  John  Copeland— 
as  men  now  called  the  Brabant  page,  now  secretary  to  the 
Queen  of  England — brought  his  mistress  the  unhandsome 
tidings  that  David  Bruce  had  invaded  her  realm  with 
forty  thousand  Scots  to  back  him.  The  Brabanter  found 
the  Queen  in  company  with  the  Hngdom's  arbitress— 
Dame  Catherine  de  Salisbury,  whom  King  Edward, 
third  of  that  name  to  reign  in  Britain,  and  now  warring 
in  France,  very  notoriously  adored  and  obeyed. 

This  king,  indeed,  had  been  despatched  into  France 
chiefly,  they  narrate,  to  release  the  Countess'  husband, 
William  de  Montacute,  from  the  French  prison  of  the 
Chatelet.  You  may  appraise  her  dominion  by  this  fact: 
chaste  and  shrewd,  she  had  denied  all  to  King  Edward, 
and  in  consequence  he  could  deny  her  nothing;  so  she 
sent  him  to  fetch  back  her  husband,  whom  she  almost 
loved.  That  armament  had  sailed  from  Southampton 
on  Saint  George's  day. 

These  two  women,  then,  shared  the  Brabanter 's  ex 
ecrable  news.  Already  Northumberland,  Westmoreland, 
and  Durham  were  the  broken  meats  of  King  David. 

102 


'DO     YOU      FORSAKE     SIRE      EDWARD.     CATHERINE? 


rg    nf 

The  Countess  presently  exclaimed:  "Let  me  pass,  sir! 
My  place  is  not  here." 

Philippa  said,  half  hopefully,  "Do  you  forsake  Sire 
Edward,  Catherine  ? ' ' 

"Madame  and  Queen,"  the  Countess  answered,  "in 
this  world  every  man  must  scratch  his  own  back.  My 
lord  has  entrusted  to  me  his  castle  of  Wark,  his  fiefs  in 
Northumberland.  These,  I  hear,  are  being  laid  waste. 
Were  there  a  thousand  men-at-arms  left  in  England  I 
would  say  fight.  As  it  is,  our  men  are  yonder  in  France 
and  the  island  is  defenceless.  Accordingly  I  ride  for  the 
north  to  make  what  terms  I  may  with  the  King  of  Scots." 

Now  you  might  have  seen  the  Queen's  eyes  flame. 
"Undoubtedly,"  said  she,  "in  her  lord's  absence  it  is 
the  \vife's  part  to  defend  his  belongings.  And  my  lord's 
fief  is  England.  I  bid  you  God-speed,  Catherine."  And 
when  the  Countess  was  gone,  Philippa  turned,  her  round 
face  all  flushed.  "  She  betrays  him!  she  compounds  with 
the  Scot!  Mother  of  Christ,  let  me  not  fail!" 

"A  ship  must  be  despatched  to  bid  Sire  Edward 
return,"  said  the  secretary.  "Otherwise  all  England  is 
lost." 

"Not  so,  John  Copeland!  Let  Sire  Edward  conquer 
in  France,  if  such  be  the  Trinity's  will.  Always  he  has 
dreamed  of  that,  and  if  I  bade  him  return  nowr  he  would 
be  vexed." 

"The  disappointment  of  the  King,"  John  Copeland 
considered,  "is  a  lesser  evil  than  allowing  all  of  us  to  be 
butchered." 

"Not  to  me,  John  Copeland,"  the  Queen  said. 

Now  came  many  lords  into  the  chamber,  seeking 
Madame  Philippa.  "We  must  make  peace  with  the 
Scottish  rascal '.—England  is  lost! — A  ship  must  be  sent 
entreating  succor  of  Sire  Edward!"  So  they  shouted. 

103 


"Messieurs,"  said  Queen  Philippa,  "who  commands 
here?  Am  I,  then,  some  woman  of  the  town?" 

Ensued  a  sudden  silence.  John  Copeland,  standing 
by  the  seaward  window,  had  picked  up  a  lute  and  was 
fingering  the  instrument  half-idly.  Now  the  Marquess 
of  Hastings  stepped  from  the  throng.  "Pardon,  High 
ness.  But  the  occasion  is  urgent." 

"The  occasion  is  very  urgent,  my  lord,"  the  Queen 
assented,  deep  in  meditation. 

John  Copeland  flung  back  his  head  and  without  prelude 
began  to  carol  lustily. 

Sang  John  Copeland : 

''There  are  fairer  men  than  Atys, 

And  many  are  wiser  than  he — 
How  should  I  heed  them? — whose  fate  is 

Ever  to  serve  and  to  be 
Ever  the  lover  of  Atys, 

And  die  that  Atys  may  dine, 
Live  if  he  need  me —  Then  heed  me, 

And  speed  me,   (the  moment  is  thine!) 
And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 

At  last,  at  last,  be  mine! 

"Fair  is  the  form  unbeholden, 

And  golden  the  glory  of  Ihcc 
Whose  voice  is  the  voice  of  a  vision, 

Whose  face  is  the  joam  of  the  sea, 
And  the  fall  of  whose  feet  is  the  flutter 

Of  breezes  in  birches  and  pine, 
When  thou  drawest  near  me,  to  hear  me, 

And  cheer  me,   (the  moment  is  thine!) 
And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 

At  last,  at  last,  be  miner' 
104 


nf   tlf?    ISjn 

I  must  tell  you  that  the  Queen  shivered,  as  with  extreme 
cold.  She  gazed  toward  John  Copeland  woncleringly. 
The  secretary  was  as  of  stone,  fretting  at  his  lute-strings, 
head  downcast.  Then  in  a  while  the  Queen  turned  to 
Hastings. 

"The  occasion  is  very  urgent,  my  lord,"  the  Queen 
assented.  "Therefore  it  is  my  will  that  to-morrow  one 
and  all  your  men  be  mustered  at  Blackheath.  We  will 
take  the  field  without  delay  against  the  King  of  Scots." 

The  riot  began  anew.  "Madness!"  they  shouted; 
"lunar  madness!  We  can  do  nothing  until  the  King 
return  with  our  army!" 

"In  his  absence,"  the  Queen  said,  "I  command  here." 

"You  are  not  Regent,"  the  Marquess  said.  Then  he 
cried,  "This  is  the  Regent's  affair!" 

"Let  the  Regent  be  fetched,"  Dame  Philippa  said,  very 
quietly.  Presently  they  brought  in  her  son,  Messire 
Lionel,  now  a  boy  of  eight  years,  and  Regent,  in  name 
at  least,  of  England. 

Both  the  Queen  and  tne  Marquess  held  papers.  "  High 
ness,"  Lord  Hastings  began,  "for  reasons  of  state,  which 
I  need  not  here  explain,  this  document  requires  your 
signature.  It  is  an  order  that  a  ship  be  despatched  in 
pursuit  of  the  King.  Your  Highness  may  remember  the 
pony  you  admired  yesterday?"  The  Marquess  smiled 
ingratiatingly.  "Just  here,  your  Highness — a  cross- 
mark." 

"The  dappled  one?"  said  the  Regent;  "and  all  for 
making  a  little  mark?"  The  boy  jumped  for  the  pen. 

"  Lionel,"  said  the  Queen,  "  you  are  Regent  of  England, 
but  you  are  also  my  son.  If  you  sign  that  paper  you 
will  beyond  doubt  get  the  pony,  but  you  will  not,  I  think, 
care  to  ride  him.  You  will  not  care  to  sit  down  at  all, 
Lionel." 


OUjtwalrij 

The  Regent  considered.  "Thank  you  very  much,  my 
lord,"  he  said  in  the  ultimate,  "but  I  do  not  like  ponies 
any  more.  Do  I  sign  here,  mother?" 

Philippa  handed  the  Marquess  a  subscribed  order  to 
muster  the  English  forces  at  Blackheath;  then  another, 
closing  the  English  ports.  "My  lords,"  the  Queen  said, 
"this  boy  is  the  King's  vicar.  In  defying  him,  you  defy 
the  King.  Yes,  Lionel,  you  have  fairly  earned  a  pot 
of  jam  for  supper." 

Then  Hastings  went  away  without  speaking.  That 
night  assembled  at  his  lodgings,  by  appointment,  Viscount 
Heringaud,  Adam  Frere,  the  Marquess  of  Orme,  Lord 
Stourton,  the  Earls  of  Neville  and  Gage,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Rokeby.  These  seven  found  a  long  table  there  littered 
\vith  pens  and  parchment ;  to  the  rear  of  it,  a  lackey  be 
hind  him,  sat  the  Marquess  of  Hastings,  meditative  over 
a  cup  of  Bordeaux. 

Presently  Hastings  said:  "My  friends,  in  creating  our 
womankind  the  Maker  of  us  all  was  beyond  doubt  ac 
tuated  by  laudable  and  cogent  reasons;  so  that  I  can 
merely  lament  my  inability  to  fathom  these  reasons. 
I  shall  obey  the  Queen  faithfully,  since  if  I  did  otherwise 
Sire  Edward  would  have  my  head  off  within  a  day  of  his 
return.  In  consequence,  I  do  not  consider  it  convenient 
to  oppose  his  vicar.  To-morrow  I  shall  assemble  the 
tatters  of  troops  which  remain  to  us,  and  to-morrow 
we  march  northward  to  inevitable  defeat.  To-night  I 
am  sending  a  courier  into  Northumberland.  He  is  an 
obliging  person,  and  would  convey — to  cite  an  instance 
— eight  letters  quite  as  blithely  as  one." 

Each  man  glanced  furtively  about  him.  England  was 
in  a  panic  by  this,  and  knew  itself  to  lie  before  the  Bruce 
defenceless.  The  all-powerful  Countess  of  Salisbury  had 
compounded  with  King  David;  now  Hastings  too,  their 

106 


0f    tlf?    if 

generalissimo,  compounded.  What  the  devil!  loyalty 
was  a  sonorous  word,  and  so  was  patriotism,  but,  after 
all,  one  had  estates  in  the  north. 

The  seven  wrote  in  silence.  When  they  had  ended, 
I  must  tell  you  that  Hastings  gathered  the  letters  into 
a  heap,  and  without  glancing  at  the  superscriptures, 
handed  all  these  letters  to  the  attendant  lackey.  "  For 
the  courier,"  he  said. 

The  fellow  left  the  apartment.  Presently  there  was  a 
clatter  of  hoofs  without,  and  Hastings  rose.  He  was  a 
gaunt,  terrible  old  man,  gray-bearded,  and  having  high 
eyebrows  that  twitched,  and  jerked. 

"We  have  saved  our  precious  skins,"  said  he.  "Hey, 
you  Iscariots!  I  commend  your  common -sense,  mes 
sieurs,  and  I  request  you  to  withdraw.  Even  a  damned 
rogue  such  as  I  has  need  of  a  cleaner  atmosphere  when  he 
would  breathe."  The  seven  went  away  without  further 
speech. 

They  narrate  that  next  day  the  troops  marched  for 
Durham,  where  the  Queen  took  up  her  quarters.  The 
Bruce  had  pillaged  and  burned  his  way  to  a  place  called 
Beaurepair,  within  three  miles  of  the  city.  He  sent 
word  to  the  Queen  that  if  her  men  were  willing  to  come 
forth  from  the  town  he  would  abide  and  give  them  battle. 

She  replied  that  she  accepted  his  offer,  and  that  the 
barons  would  gladly  risk  their  lives  for  the  realm  of  their 
lord  the  King.  The  Bruce  grinned  and  kept  silence, 
since  he  had  in  his  pocket  letters  from  nine-tenths  of 
them  protesting  they  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 

There  is  comedy  here.  On  one  side  you  have  a  horde 
of  half-naked  savages,  a  shrewd  master  holding  them 
in  leash  till  the  moment  be  auspicious;  on  the  other, 
a  housewife  at  the  head  of  a  tiny  force  lieutenanted  by 
perjurers,  by  men  already  purchased.  God  knows  the 

107 


dreams  she  had  of  miraculous  victories,  what  time  her 
barons  trafficked  in  secret  with  the  Bruce.  On  the  Sat 
urday  before  Michaelmas,  when  the  opposing  armies 
marshalled  in  the  Bishop's  Park,  at  Auckland,  it  is 
recorded  that  not  a  captain  on  either  side  believed  the 
day  to  be  pregnant  with  battle.  There  would  be  a  decent 
counterfeit  of  resistance;  afterward  the  little  English 
army  would  vanish  pell-mell,  and  the  Bruce  would  be 
master  of  the  island.  The  farce  was  prearranged,  the 
actors  therein  were  letter-perfect. 

That  morning  at  daybreak  John  Copeland  came  to 
the  Queen's  tent,  and  informed  her  quite  explicitly  how 
matters  stood.  He  had  been  drinking  overnight  with 
Adam  Frere  and  the  Earl  of  Gage,  and  after  the  third 
bottle  had  found  them  candid.  "Madame  and  Queen, 
we  are  betrayed.  The  Marquess  of  Hastings,  our  com 
mander,  is  inexplicably  smitten  with  a  fever.  He  will  not 
fight  to-day.  Not  one  of  your  lords  will  fight  to-day." 
Master  Copeland  laid  bare  such  part  of  the  scheme  as 
yesterday's  conviviality  had  made  familiar.  "Therefore 
I  counsel  retreat.  Let  the  King  be  summoned  out  of 
France." 

But  Queen  Philippa  shook  her  head,  as  she  cut  up 
squares  of  toast  and  dipped  them  in  milk  for  the  Regent's 
breakfast.  "Sire  Edward  would  be  vexed.  He  has 
always  intended  to  conquer  France.  I  shall  visit  the 
Marquess  as  soon  as  Lionel  is  fed — do  you  know,  John 
Copeland,  I  am  anxious  about  Lionel;  he  is  irritable  and 
coughed  live  times  during  the  night — and  then  I  will 
attend  to  this  affair." 

She  found  the  Marquess  in  bed,  groaning,  the  coverlet 
pulled  up  to  his  chin.  "Pardon,  Highness,"  said  Lord 
Hastings,  "but  I  am  an  ill  man.  I  cannot  rise  from  this 
couch." 

toS 


"  I  do  not  question  the  gravity  of  your  disorder,"  the 
Queen  retorted,  "since  it  is  well  known  that  the  same 
illness  brought  about  the  death  of  Iscariot.  Nevertheless, 
I  bid  you  get  up  and  lead  our  troops  against  the  Scot." 

Now  the  hand  of  the  Marquess  veiled  his  countenance. 
But,  "  I  am  an  ill  man,"  he  muttered,  doggedly.  "  I  can 
not  rise  from  this  couch." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"My  lord,"  the  Queen  presently  began,  "without  is  an 
army  prepared — ay,  and  quite  able — to  defend  our 
England.  The  one  requirement  of  this  army  is  a  leader. 
Afford  them  that,  my  lord — ah,  I  know  that  our  peers 
are  sold  to  the  Bruce,  yet  our  yeomen  at  least  arc  honest. 
Give  them,  then,  a  leader,  and  they  cannot  but  conquer, 
since  God  also  is  honest  and  incorruptible.  Pardieu!  a 
woman  might  lead  these  men,  and  lead  them  to  victory!" 

Hastings  answered:  "I  am  an  ill  man.  I  cannot  rise 
from  this  couch." 

You  saw  that  Philippa  was  not  beautiful.  You  per 
ceived  that  to  the  contrary  she  was  superb,  saw  the  soul 
of  the  woman  aglow,  gilding  the  mediocrities  of  color  and 
curve  as  a  conflagration  does  a  hovel. 

"There  is  no  man  left  in  England,"  said  the  Queen, 
"since  Sire  Edward  went  into  France.  Praise  God,  I  am 
his  wife!"  And  she  was  gone  without  flurry. 

Through  the  tent-flap  Hastings  beheld  all  that  which 
followed.  The  English  force  was  marshalled  in  four 
divisions,  each  commanded  by  a  bishop  and  a  baron. 
You  could  see  the  men  fidgeting,  puzzled  by  the  delay; 
as  a  wind  goes  about  a  corn-field,  vague  rumors  were 
going  about  those  wavering  spears.  Toward  them  rode 
Philippa,  upon  a  white  palfrey,  alone  and  perfectly  tran 
quil.  Her  eight  lieutenants  were  nowr  gathered  about 
her  in  voluble  protestation,  and  she  heard  them  out. 

109 


(Eljtuairg 

Afterward  she  spoke,  without  any  particular  violence, 
as  one  might  order  a  strange  cur  from  his  room.  Then 
the  Queen  rode  on,  as  though  these  eight  declaiming 
persons  had  ceased  to  be  of  interest,  and  reined  up  before 
her  standard-bearer,  and  took  the  standard  in  her  hand. 
She  began  again  to  speak,  and  immediately  the  army  was 
in  an  uproar;  the  barons  were  clustering  behind  her, 
in  stealthy  groups  of  two  or  three  whisperers  each;  all 
were  in  the  greatest  amazement  and  knew  not  what  to 
do;  but  the  army  was  shouting  the  Queen's  name. 

''Now  is  England  shamed,"  said  Hastings,  "since  a 
woman  alone  dares  to  encounter  the  Scot.  She  will 
lead  them  into  battle — and  by  God!  there  is  no  braver 
person  under  heaven  than  yonder  Dutch  Fran!  Friend 
David,  I  perceive  that  your  venture  is  lost,  for  those  men 
would  within  the  moment  follow  her  to  storm  hell  if  she 
desired  it." 

He  meditated  and  more  lately  shrugged.  "And  so 
would  I,"  said  Hastings. 

A  little  afterward  a  gaunt  and  haggard  old  man,  bare 
headed  and  very  hastily  dressed,  reined  his  horse  by  the 
Queen's  side.  "Madame  and  Queen,"  said  Hastings,  "I 
rejoice  that  my  recent  illness  is  departed.  I  shall,  by 
God's  grace,  on  this  day  drive  the  Bruce  from  England." 

Philippa  was  not  given  to  verbiage.  Doubtless  she 
had  her  emotions,  but  none  was  visible  upon  the  honest 
face;  yet  one  plump  hand  had  fallen  into  the  big- veined 
hand  of  Hastings.  "I  welcome  back  the  gallant  gentleman 
of  yesterday.  I  was  about  to  lead  your  army,  my  friend, 
since  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it,  but  I  was  hideously 
afraid.  At  bottom  every  woman  is  a  coward." 

"You  were  afraid  to  do  it,"  said  the  Marquess,  "but 
you  were  going  to  do  it,  because  there  was  no  one  else  to 
do  it!  Ho,  madame!  had  I  an  army  of  such  cowards 

no 


ry  nf  ilj?   Ij 

I  would  drive  the  Scot  not  past  the  Border  but  beyond 
the  Orkneys." 

The  Queen  then  said,  "But  you  arc  unarmed." 

"Highness,"  he  replied,  "it  is  surely  apparent  that  I, 
who  have  played  the  traitor  to  two  monarchs  within  the 
same  day,  cannot  with  either  decency  or  comfort  survive 
that  day."  He  turned  upon  the  lords  and  bishops  twitter 
ing  about  his  horse's  tail.  "You  merchandise,  get  back 
to  your  stations,  and  if  there  was  ever  an  honest  woman 
in  any  of  your  families,  the  \vhich  I  doubt,  contrive  to 
get  yourselves  killed  this  day,  as  I  mean  to  do,  in  the 
cause  of  the  honestest  and  bravest  woman  our  time  has 
known."  Immediately  the  English  forces  marched  to 
ward  Merrington. 

Philippa  returned  to  her  pavilion  and  inquired  for 
John  Copeland.  He  had  ridden  off,  she  was  informed, 
armed,  in  company  with  five  of  her  immediate  re 
tainers.  She  considered  this  strange,  but  made  no  com 
ment. 

You  picture  her,  perhaps,  as  spending  the  morning  in 
prayer,  in  beatings  upon  her  breast,  and  in  lamentations. 
Philippa  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  As  you  have  heard,  she 
considered  her  cause  to  be  so  clamantly  just  that  to 
expatiate  to  the  Holy  Father  upon  its  merits  were  an 
impertinence;  it  was  not  conceivable  that  He  wrould  fail 
her;  and  in  any  event,  she  had  in  hand  a  deal  of  sewing 
which  required  immediate  attention.  Accordingly  she 
settled  down  to  her  needlework,  while  the  Regent  of 
England  leaned  his  head  against  her  knee,  and  his  mother 
told  him  that  ageless  tale  of  Lord  Huon,  who  in  a  wood 
near  Babylon  encountered  the  King  of  Faery,  and  sub 
sequently  stripped  the  atrocious  Emir  of  both  beard 
and  daughter.  All  this  the  industrious  woman  narrated 
in  a  low  and  pleasant  voice,  while  the  wide-eyed  Regent 

II  T 


(E  h  t  ti  a  I  r  a 

attended  and  at  the  proper  intervals  gulped  his  cough- 
mixture. 

You  must  know  that  about  noon  Master  John  Cope- 
land  came  into  the  tent.  "We  have  conquered,"  he  said. 
"Now,  by  the  Face!" — thus,  scoffingly,  he  used  her  hus 
band's  favorite  oath — '"now,  by  the  Face!  there  was 
never  a  victory  more  complete !  The  Scottish  army  is  as 
those  sands  which  dried  the  letters  Kirg  Ahasuerus  gave 
the  admirable  Esther!" 

"I  rejoice,"  the  Queen  said,  looking  up  from  her  sewing, 
"that  we  have  conquered,  though  in  nature  I  expected 
nothing  else—  Oh ,  horrible ! ' '  She  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  cry  of  anguish:  and  here  in  little  you  have  the  entire 
woman ;  the  victory  of  her  armament  was  to  her  a  thing 
of  course,  since  her  cause  was  just,  whereas  the  loss  of 
two  front  teeth  by  John  Copeland  was  a  genuine  calamity. 

He  drew  her  toward  the  tent-flap,  which  he  opened. 
Without  was  a  mounted  knight,  in  full  panoply,  his  arms 
bound  behind  him,  surrounded  by  the  Queen's  five  re 
tainers.  "In  the  rout  I  took  him,"  said  John  Copeland; 
"though,  as  my  mouth  witnesses,  I  did  not  find  this 
David  Bruce  a  tractable  prisoner." 

"Is  that,  then,  the  King  of  Scots?"  Philippa  demanded, 
as  she  mixed  salt  and  water  for  a  mouth-wash;  and 
presently:  "Sire  Edward  should  be  pleased,  I  think. 
Will  he  not  love  me  a  little  now,  John  Copeland?" 

John  Copeland  lifted  either  plump  hand  toward  his 
lips.  "He  could  not  choose,"  John  Copeland  said; 
"madame,  he  could  no  more  choose  but  love  you  than  I 
could  choose." 

Philippa  sighed.  Afterward  she  bade  John  Copeland 
rinse  his  gums  and  then  take  his  prisoner  to  Hastings. 
He  told  her  the  Marquess  was  dead,  slain  by  the  Knight 
of  Liddesdale.  "That  is  a  pity,"  the  Queen  said;  and 

112 


9iiirji  ui   tljr   1$  HUB?  tit  if? 

more  lately:  "There  is  left  alive  in  England  hut  one 
man  to  whom  I  dare  entrust  the  keeping  of  the  King  of 
Scots.  My  barons  are  sold  to  him;  if  I  retain  Messire 
David  by  me,  one  or  another  lord  will  engineer  his  escape 
within  the  week,  and  Sire  Edward  will  be  vexed.  Yet 
listen,  John—  She  unfolded  her  plan. 

"I  have  long  known,"  he  said,  when  she  had  done, 
"that  in  all  the  world  there  was  no  lady  more  lovable. 
Twenty  years  I  have  loved  you,  my  Queen,  and  yet  it  is 
but  to-day  I  perceive  that  in  all  the  world  there  is  no 
lady  more  wise  than  you." 

Philippa  touched  his  cheek,  maternally.  ''Foolish 
boy !  You  tell  me  the  King  of  Scots  has  an  arrow- wound 
in  his  nose?  I  think  a  bread  poultice  would  be  best." 
...  So  then  John  Copeland  left  the  tent  and  presently 
rode  awray  with  his  company. 

Philippa  saw  that  the  Regent  had  his  dinner,  and 
afterward  mounted  her  white  palfrey  and  set  out  for  the 
battle-field.  There  the  Earl  of  Neville,  as  second  in  com 
mand,  received  her  with  great  courtesy.  God  had  shown 
to  her  Majesty's  servants  most  singular  favor  despite 
the  calculations  of  reasonable  men — to  which,  she  might 
remember,  he  had  that  morning  taken  the  liberty  to 
assent — some  fifteen  thousand  Scots  were  slain.  True, 
her  gallant  general  was  no  longer  extant,  though  this  was 
scarcely  astounding  when  one  considered  the  fact  that 
he  had  voluntarily  entered  the  melee  quite  unarmed. 
A  touch  of  age,  perhaps ;  Hastings  was  always  an  eccen 
tric  man;  and  in  any  event,  as  epilogue,  this  Neville 
congratulated  the  Queen  that — by  blind  luck,  he  was 
forced  to  concede — her  worthy  secretary  had  made  a 
prisoner  of  the  Scottish  King.  Doubtless,  Master  Cope- 
land  was  an  estimable  scribe,  and  yet—  Ah,  yes,  he  quite 
followed  her  Majesty — beyond  doubt,  the  wardage  of  a 

"3 


king  was  an  honor  not  lightly  to  be  conferred.  Oh  yes, 
he  understood;  her  Majesty  desired  that  the  office  should 
be  given  some  person  of  rank.  And  pardie!  her  Majesty 
was  in  the  right.  Eh?  said  the  Earl  of  Neville. 

Intently  gazing  into  the  man's  shallow  eyes,  Philippa 
assented.  Master  Copeland  had  acted  unwarrantably 
in  riding  off  with  his  captive.  Let  him  be  sought  at 
once.  She  dictated  a  letter  to  Neville's  secretary,  which 
informed  John  Copeland  that  he  had  done  what  was 
not  agreeable  in  purloining  her  prisoner  without  leave. 
Let  him  sans  delay  deliver  the  King  to  her  good  friend 
the  Earl  of  Neville. 

To  Neville  this  was  satisfactory,  since  he  intended  that 
once  in  his  possession  David  Bruce  should  escape  forth 
with.  The  letter,  I  repeat,  suited  this  smirking  gentleman 
in  its  tiniest  syllabic,  and  the  single  difficulty  was  to 
convey  it  to  John  Copeland,  for  as  to  his  whereabouts 
neither  Neville  nor  any  one  else  had  the  least  notion. 

This  was  immaterial,  however,  for  they  narrate  that 
next  day  a  letter  signed  with  John  Copeland 's  name  was 
found  pinned  to  the  front  of  Neville's  tent.  I  cite  a 
passage  therefrom :  "I  will  not  give  up  my  royal  prisoner 
to  a  woman  or  a  child,  but  only  to  my  own  lord,  Sire 
Edward,  for  to  him  I  have  sworn  allegiance,  and  not  to 
any  wToman.  Yet  you  may  tell  the  Queen  she  may  de 
pend  on  my  taking  excellent  care  of  King  David.  I  have 
poulticed  his  nose,  as  she  directed." 

Here  was  a  nonplus,  not  perhaps  without  its  comical 
side.  Two  great  realms  had  met  in  battle,  and  the  king 
of  one  of  them  had  vanished  like  a  soap-bul  >blc.  Philippa 
was  in  a  rage — you  could  see  that  both  by  her  demeanor 
and  by  the  indignant  letters  she  dictated;  true,  they 
could  not  be  delivered,  since  they  were  all  addressed  to 
John  Copeland.  Meanwhile,  Scotland  was  in  despair, 


nf  tlj*   Ij0u0rtutf? 

whereas  the  English  barons  were  in  a  frenzy,  because, 
however  willing  you  may  be,  you  cannot  well  betray 
your  liege-lord  to  an  unlocatable  enemy.  The  circum 
stances  were  unique,  and  they  remained  unchanged  for 
three  feverish  weeks. 

We  will  now  return  to  affairs  in  France,  where  on  the 
day  of  the  Nativity,  as  night  gathered  about  Calais,  John 
Copeland  came  unheralded  to  the  quarters  of  King 
Edward,  then  besieging  that  city.  Master  Copeland 
entreated  audience,  and  got  it  readily  enough,  since  there 
was  no  man  alive  whom  Sire  Edward  more  cordially 
desired  to  lay  his  fingers  upon. 

A  page  brought  Master  Copeland  to  the  King,  a  stupen 
dous  person,  blond  and  incredibly  big.  With  him  were  a 
careful  Italian,  that  Almerigo  di  Pavia  who  afterward 
betrayed  vSire  Edward,  and  a  lean  soldier  whom  Master 
Copeland  recognized  as  John  Chandos.  These  three  were 
drawing  up  an  account  of  the  recent  victory  at  Creci,  to 
be  forwarded  to  all  mayors  and  sheriffs  in  England,  with 
a  cogent  postscript  as  to  the  King's  incidental  and 
immediate  need  of  money. 

Now  King  Edward  sat  leaning  far  back  in  his  chair,  a 
hand  on  either  hip,  and  his  eyes  narrowing  as  he  regarded 
Master  Copeland.  Had  the  Brabanter  flinched,  the  King 
would  probably  have  hanged  him  within  the  next  ten 
minutes;  finding  his  gaze  unwavering,  the  King  was 
pleased.  Here  was  a  novelty;  most  people  blinked 
quite  genuinely  under  the  scrutiny  of  those  fierce  big  eyes, 
which  were  blue  and  cold  and  of  an  astounding  lustre, 
gemlike  as  the  March  sea. 

The  King  rose  with  a  jerk  and  took  John  Copeland's 
hand.     ''Ha!"  he  grunted,  "I  welcome  the  squire  who  by 
his  valor  has  captured  the  King  of  Scots.     And  now,  my 
man,  what  have  you  done  with  Davie?" 
9  115 


John  Copcland  answered:  "Highness,  you  may  find 
him  at  your  convenience  safely  locked  in  Bamborough 
Castle.  Meanwhile,  I  entreat  you,  sire,  do  not  take  it 
amiss  if  I  did  not  surrender  King  David  to  the  orders  of 
my  lady  Queen,  for  I  hold  my  lands  of  you,  and  not  of  her, 
and  my  oath  is  to  you,  and  not  to  her,  unless  indeed  by 
choice." 

''John,"  the  King  sternly  replied,  "the  loyal  service  you 
have  done  us  is  considerable,  whereas  your  excuse  for 
kidnapping  Da  vie  is  a  farce.  Hey,  Aimer  igo,  do  you  and 
Chandos  avoid  the  chamber!  I  have  something  in  private 
with  this  fellow."  When  they  had  gone,  the  King  sat 
down  and  composedly  said,  "Now  tell  me  the  truth,  John 
Copcland." 

"Sire,"  he  began,  "it  is  necessary  you  first  understand 
I  bear  a  letter  from  Madame  Philippa— 

"Then  read  it,"  said  the  King.  "Heart  of  God!  have 
1  an  eternity  to  waste  on  you  Brabanters!" 

John  Copeland  read  aloud,  while  the  King  trilled  with 
a  pen,  half  negligent,  and  in  part  attendant. 

Read  John  Copeland: 

"My  DEAR  LORD, — /  recommend  me  to  your  lordship 
with  soul  and  body  and  all  my  poor  might,  and  with  all  this 
I  thank  you,  as  my  dear  lord,  dearest  and  best  beloved  of  all 
earthly  lords  I  protest  to  me,  and  thank  you,  my  dear  lord, 
with  all  this  as  I  say  before.  Your  comfortable  letter  eame 
to  me  on  Saint  Gregory's  dav,  cmd  I  was  never  so  glad-  as 
when  I  heard  by  your  letter  that  ye  were  strong  enough  in 
Ponlhieu  by  the  graee  of  God  for  to  keep  you  from  your 
enemies.  Among  them  I  estimate  Madame  Catherine  de 
Salisbury,  who  would  have  betrayed  you  to  the  Scot.  And, 
dear  lord,  if  it  be  pleasing  to  your  high  lordship  that  as  soon 
as  ye  may  that  I  might  hear  of  your  gracious  speed,  which 

116 


uilte  &tnrg  nf  ilj?  ISinu 

may  God  Almighty  continue  and  increase,  I  shall  be  glad, 
and  also  if  ye  do  each  night  chafe  your  feet  with  a  rag  of 
woollen  stuff.  And,  my  dear  lord,  if  it  like  you  for  to  know 
of  my  fare,  John  Copeland  will  acquaint  you  concerning  the 
Bruce  his  capture,  and  the  syrup  he  brings  for  our  son  Lord 
Edwards  cough,  and  the  great  malice-workers  in  these 
shires  which  would  have  so  de spitefully  wrought  to  you, 
and  of  the  manner  of  taking  it  after  each  meal.  I  am  lately 
informed  that  Madame  Catherine  is  now  at  Stirling  with 
Robert  Stewart  and  has  lost  all  her  good  looks  through  a  fever. 
God  is  invariably  gracious  to  His  servants.  Farewell,  my 
dear  lord,  and  may  the  Holy  Trinity  keep  you  from  your 
adversaries  and  ever  send  me  comfortable  tidings  of  you. 
Written  at  York,  in  the  Castle,  on  Saint  Gregory's  day  last 

past,  by  your  own  poor 

"  PHILIP  PA. 

"To  my  true  lord" 

"H'm!"  said  the  King;  "and  now  give  me  the  entire 
story." 

John  Copeland  obeyed.  I  must  tell  you  that  early  in 
the  narrative  King  Edward  arose  and,  with  a  sob,  strode 
toward  a  window.  "Catherine!"  he  said.  He  remained 
motionless  what  time  Master  Copeland  went  on  without 
any  manifest  emotion.  When  he  had  ended,  King 
Edward  said,  "And  where  is  Madame  de  Salisbury  now?" 

At  this  the  Brabant er  went  mad.  As  a  leopard  springs 
he  leaped  upon  the  King,  and  grasping  him  by  either 
shoulder,  shook  that  monarch  as  one  punishing  a  child. 

"Now  by  the  splendor  of  God—!"  King  Edward 
began,  very  terrible  in  his  wrath.  He  saw  that  John 
Copeland  held  a  dagger  to  his  breast,  and  shrugged. 
"Well,  my  man,  you  perceive  I  am  defenceless.  There 
fore  make  an  end,  you  dog." 

117 


Qlliitmlry 

"First  you  will  hear  me  out,"  John  Copeland  said. 

"It  would  appear, ' '  the  King  retorted,  ' '  that  I  have  little 
choice." 

At  this  time  John  Copeland  began:  "Sire,  you  are  the 
greatest  monarch  our  race  has  known.  England  is  yours, 
France  is  yours,  conquered  Scotland  lies  prostrate  at  your 
feet.  To-day  there  is  no  other  man  in  all  the  world  who 
possesses  a  tithe  of  your  glory;  yet  twenty  years  ago 
Madame  Philippa  first  beheld  you  and  loved  you,  an 
outcast,  an  exiled,  empty  -  pocketed  prince.  Twenty 
years  ago  the  love  of  Madame  Philippa,  great  Count 
William's  daughter,  got  for  you  the  armament  where 
with  England  was  regained.  Twenty  years  ago  but 
for  Madame  Philippa  you  had  died  naked  in  some 
ditch." 

"Go  on,"  the  King  said  presently. 

"And  afterward  you  took  a  fancy  to  reign  in  France. 
You  learned  then  that  we  Brabanters  are  a  frugal  people : 
Madame  Philippa  was  wealthy  when  she  married  you, 
and  twenty  years  had  but  quadrupled  her  fortune.  She 
gave  you  every  penny  of  it  that  you  might  fit  out  this 
expedition;  now  her  very  crown  is  in  pawn  at  Ghent. 
In  fine,  the  love  of  Madame  Philippa  gave  you  France  as 
lightly  as  one  might  bestow  a  toy  upon  a  child  who  whined 
for  it." 

The  King  fiercely  said,  "Go  on." 

"Eh,  sire,  I  intend  to.  You  left  England  undefended 
that  you  might  posture  a  little  in  the  eyes  of  Europe. 
And  meanwhile  a  woman  preserves  England,  a  woman 
gives  you  all  Scotland  as  a  gift,  and  in  return  demands 
nothing — God  ha'  mercy  on  us! — save  that  you  nightly 
chafe  your  feet  with  a  bit  of  woollen.  You  hear  of  it— 
and  ask,  'Where  is  Madame  de  Salisbury?'  Here  beyond 
doubt  is  the  cock  of  ^Esop's  fable,"  snarled  John  Copeland, 

118 


ry    nf   tlje    2jnu0r 

"who  unearthed  a  gem  and  grumbled  that  his  diamond 
was  not  a  grain  of  corn." 

"You  will  be  hanged  ere  dawn,"  the  King  replied,  and 
yet  by  this  one  hand  had  screened  his  face.  "Meanwhile 
spit  out  your  venom." 

"I  say  to  you,  then,"  John  Copeland  continued,  "that 
to-day  you  are  master  of  Europe.  That  but  for  this 
woman  whom  for  twenty  years  you  have  neglected  you 
would  to-day  be  mouldering  in  some  pauper's  grave.  Eh, 
without  question,  you  most  magnanimously  loved  that 
shrew  of  Salisbury!  because  you  fancied  the  color  of  her 
eyes,  Sire  Edward,  and  admired  the  angle  between  her 
nose  and  her  forehead.  Minstrels  unborn  will  sing  of  this 
great  love  of  yours.  Meantime  I  say  to  you"  -  now 
the  man's  rage  was  monstrous — "I  say  to  you,  go  home 
to  your  too-tedious  wife,  the  source  of  all  your  glory! 
sit  at  her  feet!  and  let  her  teach  you  what  love  is!"  He 
flung  away  the  dagger.  "There  you  have  the  truth. 
Now  summon  your  attendants,  my  tres  beau  sire,  and 
have  me  hanged." 

The  King  gave  no  movement.  "You  have  been 
bold—  '  he  said  at  last. 

' '  But  you  have  been  far  bolder,  sire.  For  twenty  years 
you  have  dared  to  flout  that  love  which  is  God  made 
manifest  as  His  main  heritage  to  His  children." 

King  Edward  sat  in  meditation  for  a  long  while, 
consider  my  wife's  clerk,"  he  drily  said,  "to  discourse  of 
love  in  somewhat  too  much  the  tone  of  a  lover."     And 
a  flush  was  his  reward. 

But  when  this  Copeland  spoke  he  was  as  one  trans 
figured.  His  voice  was  grave  and  very  tender. 

"  As  the  fish  have  their  life  in  the  waters,  so  1  have  and 
always  shall  have  mine  in  love.  Love  made  me  choose 
and  dare  to  emulate  a  lady,  long  ago,  through  whom  I 

119 


(Ehtualrg 

Jive  contented,  without  expecting  any  other  good.  Her 
purity  is  so  inestimable  that  I  cannot  say  whether  I 
derive  more  pride  or  sorrow  from  its  pre-eminence.  She 
does  not  love  me,  and  she  never  will.  She  would  con 
demn  me  to  be  hewed  in  fragments  sooner  than  permit 
her  husband's  little  linger  to  be  injured.  Yet  she  sur 
passes  all  others  so  utterly  that  I  would  rather  hunger  in 
her  presence  than  enjoy  from  another  all  which  a  lover 
can  devise." 

Sire  Edward  stroked  the  table  through  this  while,  with 
an  inverted  pen.  He  cleared  his  throat.  He  said,  half- 
fretfully : 

'Now,  by  the  Face!  it  is  not  given  every  man  to  love 
precisely  in  this  troubadourish  fashion.  Even  the  most 
generous  person  cannot  render  to  love  any  more  than 
that  person  happens  to  possess.  I  had  a  vision  once: 
The  devil  sat  upon  a  cathedral  spire  and  white  doves 
flew  about  him.  Monks  came  and  told  him  to  begone. 
'Do  not  the  spires  show  you,  O  son  of  darkness,'  they 
clamored,  'that  the  place  is  holy?'  And  Satan  (in  my 
vision)  said  these  spires  were  capable  of  various  inter 
pretations.  I  speak  of  symbols,  John.  Yet  I  also  have 
loved,  in  my  own  fashion — and,  it  would  seem,  I  win  the 
same  reward  as  you." 

He  said  more  lately:  "And  so  she  is  at  Stirling  now? 
with  Robert  Stewart?"  He  laughed,  not  overpleasantly. 
"Eh,  yes,  it  needed  a  bold  person  to  bring  all  your  tid 
ings!  But  you  Brabanters  are  a  very  thorough-going 
people." 

The  King  rose  and  flung  back  his  big  head  as  a  lion 
might.  "John,  the  loyal  service  you  have  done  us  and 
our  esteem  for  your  valor  are  so  great  that  they  may  well 
serve  you  as  an  excuse.  May  shame  fall  on  those  who 
bear  you  any  ill-will!  You  will  now  return  home,  and 

120 


£>tnry    nf    tit?    linitaruttfr 

take  your  prisoner,  the  King  of  Scotland,  and  deliver  him 
ti  my  wife,  to  do  with  as  she  may  elect.  You  will  convey 
to  her  my  entreaty — not  my  orders,  John — that  she  come 
to  me  here  at  Calais.  As  remuneration  for  this  evening's 
insolence,  I  assign  lands  as  near  your  house  as  you  can 
choose  them  to  the  value  of  ,-£500  a  year  for  you  and  for 
your  heirs." 

You  must  know  that  John  Copeland  fell  upon  his  knees 
before  King-  Edward.  "Sire—  '  he  stammered. 

But  the  King  raised  him.  "Nay,"  he  said,  "you  are 
the  better  man.  Were  there  any  equity  in  Fate,  John 
Copeland,  your  lady  had  loved  you,  not  me.  As  it  is,  I 
shall  strive  to  prove  not  altogether  unworthy  of  my 
fortune.  Go,  then,  John  Copeland — go,  my  squire,  and 
bring  me  back  my  Queen." 

Presently  he  heard  John  Copeland  singing  without. 
And  through  that  instant  was  youth  returned  to  Edward 
Plantagenet,  and  all  the  scents  and  shadows  and  faint 
sounds  of  Valenciennes  on  that  ancient  night  when  a 
tall  girl  came  to  him,  running,  stumbling  in  her  haste  to 
bring  him  kingship.  Now  at  last  he  understood  the  heart 
of  Philippa. 

"Let  me  live!"  the  King  prayed;  "O  Eternal  Father, 
let  me  live  a  little  while  that  1  may  make  atonement!" 
And  meantime  John  Copeland  sang  without  and  the 
Hrabanter's  heart  was  big  with  joy. 

Sang  John  Copeland  : 

"Long  I  besought  thcc,  nor  vainly, 

Daughter  of  water  and  air— 
Charts !     Idalia!     Ilortcnsis! 

Hast  thou  not  heard  the  prayer, 
When  the  blood  stood  still  with  loving, 
And  tlie  blood  in   me  leapt  like  wine, 

T  21 


(Ehtualrg 

And  I  murmured  thy  name,  Mclccnis?—- 
That  heard  me,    (the  glory  is  thine!) 

And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 
At  last,  at  last,  be  mine! 

"Falsely  they  tell  of  thy  dying, 

Thou  that  art  older  than  Death, 
And  never  the  Horselberg  hid  thee, 

Whatever  the  slanderer  saith, 
For  the  stars  are  as  heralds  forerunning, 

When  laughter  and  love  combine 
At  twilight,  in  thy  light,  Melcrnis— 

That  heard  me,   (the  glory  is  thine!) 
And  let  the  heart  of  Atys, 

At  last,  at  last,  be  mine!" 


THE  END  OP  THE  FIFTH  NOVEL 


VI 
of 


Je  suis  voix  an  desert  criant 
Que  chascun  soyt  rectifiant 
La  voye  de  Sauveur;  non  suis, 
Et  accomplir  je  ne  le  puis." 


THE  SIXTH  NOVEL. — ANNE  OF  BOHEMIA  HAS  ONE  ONLY 
FRIEND,  AND  BY  HIM  PLAYS  THE  FRIEND'S  PART;  AND 
ACHIEVES  IN  DOING  SO  THEIR  COMMON  ANGUISH,  AS  WELL 
AS  THE  CONFUSION  OF  STATECRAFT  AND  THE  POULTICING 
OF  A  GREAT  DISEASE. 


SIlj?   g>10ry   af  tlj? 


?N  the  year  of  grace  1381  (Nicolas  begins) 
was  Dame  Anne  magnificently  fetched 
from  remote  Bohemia,  and  at  West 
minster  married  to  Sire  Richard,  the 
second  monarch  of  that  name  to  reign 
in  England.  The  (Jueen  had  presently 
noted  a  certain  priest  who  went  forbiddingly  about  her 
court,  where  he  was  accorded  a  provisional  courtesy, 
and  more  forbiddingly  into  many  hovels,  where  day  by 
day  a  pitiful  wreckage  of  humanity  both  blessed  and 
hoodwinked  him,  as  he  morosely  knew,  and  adored  him, 
as  he  never  knew  at  all. 

Queen  Anne  made  inquiries.  This  young  cleric  was 
amanuensis  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  she  was  informed, 
and  notoriously  a  by-blow  of  the  Duke's  brother,  the 
dead  Lionel  of  Clarence.  She  sent  for  this  Edward 
Maudelain.  When  he  came  her  first  perception  was, 
"How  wonderful  his  likeness  to  the  King!"  while  the 
thought's  commentary  ran,  unacknowledged,  "Ay,  as  an 
eagle  resembles  a  falcon!"  For  here,  to  the  observant 
eye,  was  a  more  zealous  person,  already  passion-  wasted, 
and  ineffably  a  more  dictatorial  and  stiff-necked  being  than 
the  lazy  and  amiable  King;  also,  this  Maudelain's  face 
and  nose  were  somewhat  too  long  and  high;  and  the 
priest  was,  in  a  word,  the  less  comely  of  the  pair  by  a  very 
little,  and  by  an  infinity  the  more  kinglike. 

I25 


(Eljttialrg 

"You  arc  my  cousin  now,  messire,"  she  told  him,  and 
innocently  offered  to  his  lips  her  own. 

He  never  moved;  hut  their  glances  crossed,  and  for 
that  instant  she  saw  the  face  of  a  man  who  has  just 
stepped  into  a  quicksand.  She  trembled,  without  know 
ing  why.  Then  he  spoke,  composedly,  and  of  trivial 
matters. 

Thus  began  the  Queen's  acquaintance  with  Edward 
Maudelain.  She  was  by  this  time  the  loneliest  woman 
in  the  island.  Her  husband  granted  her  a  bright  and 
fresh  perfection  of  form  and  color,  but  desiderated  any 
appetizing  tang,  and  lamented,  in  his  phrase,  a  certain 
kinship  to  the  impeccable  loveliness  of  some  female  saint 
in  a  jaunty  tapestry;  bright  as  ice  in  sunshine,  just  so 
her  beauty  chilled  you,  he  complained:  and  moreover, 
this  daughter  of  the  Gcsars  had  been  fetched  into  England, 
chiefly,  to  breed  him  children,  and  this  she  had  never 
done.  Undoubtedly  he  had  made  a  bad  bargain — he 
was  too  easy  -  going,  people  presumed  upon  it.  His 
barons  snatched  their  cue  and  esteemed  Dame  Anne  to  be 
negligible ;  whereas  the  clergy,  finding  that  she  obstinately 
read  the  Scriptures  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  under  the 
irrelevant  plea  of  not  comprehending  Latin,  denounced  her 
from  their  pulpits  as  a  heretic  and  as  the  evil  woman 
prophesied  by  Ezekiel. 

It  was  the  nature  of  this  desolate  child  to  crave  affection, 
as  a  necessity  almost,  and  pitifully  she  tried  to  purchase 
it  through  almsgiving.  In  the  attempt  she  could  have 
found  no  coadjutor  more  ready  than  Edward  Maudelain. 
Giving  was  with  these  downright  two  a  sort  of  obsession, 
though  always  he  gave  in  a  half  scorn  but  half  concealed ; 
and  presently  they  could  have  marshalled  an  army  of 
adherents,  all  in  rags,  who  would  cheerfully  have  been 
hacked  to  pieces  for  either  of  the  twain,  and  have  praised 

126 


IH0rg    nf   ilj? 

God  at  the  final  gasp  for  the  privilege.  It  was  perhaps 
the  tragedy  of  the  man's  life  that  he  never  suspected  this. 

Now  in  and  about  the  Queen's  unfrequented  rooms 
the  lonely  woman  and  the  priest  met  daily  to  discuss  now 
this  or  that  comminuted  point  of  theology,  or  now  (to 
cite  a  single  instance)  Gammer  Tudway's  obstinate 
sciatica.  Considerate  persons  found  something  of  the 
pathetic  in  their  preoccupation  by  these  trifles  while, 
so  clamantly,  the  dissension  between  the  young  King 
and  his  uncles  gathered  to  a  head :  the  air  was  thick  with 
portents;  and  was  this,  then,  an  appropriate  time,  the 
judicious  demanded  of  high  Heaven,  for  the  Queen  of 
fearful  England  to  concern  herself  about  a  peasant's 
toothache  ? 

Long  afterward  was  Edward  Maudelain  to  remember 
this  brief  and  tranquil  period  of  his  life,  and  to  wonder 
over  the  man  that  he  had  been  through  this  short  while. 
Embittered  and  suspicious  she  had  found  him,  noted  for 
the  carping  tongue  he  lacked  both  power  and  inclination 
to  bridle;  and  she  had,  against  his  nature,  made  Maude- 
lain  see  that  every  person  is  at  bottom  lovable,  and  all 
vices  but  the  stains  of  a  traveller  midway  in  a  dusty 
journey;  and  had  led  the  priest  no  longer  to  do  good  for 
his  soul's  health,  but  simply  for  his  fellow's  benefit. 

And  in  place  of  that  monstrous  passion  which  had  at 
first  view  of  her  possessed  the  priest,  now,  like  a  sheltered 
taper,  glowed  an  adoration  which  yearned,  in  mockery 
of  common-sense,  to  suffer  somehow  for  this  beautiful 
and  gracious  comrade;  though  very  often  a  sudden  pity 
for  her  loneliness  and  the  knowledge  that  she  dared  trust 
no  one  save  himself  would  throttle  him  like  two  assassins 
and  move  the  hot-blooded  young  man  to  an  exquisite 
agony  of  self-contempt  and  exultation. 

Now  Maudelain  made  excellent  songs,  it  was  a  matter 

127 


(ttljttiairg 

of  common  report.  Yet  but  once  in  their  close  friend 
ship  had  the  Queen  commanded  him  to  make  a  song  for 
her.  This  had  been  at  Dover,  about  vespers,  in  the 
starved  and  tiny  garden  overlooking  the  English  Channel, 
upon  which  her  apartments  faced;  and  the  priest  had 
fingered  his  lute  for  an  appreciable  while  before  he  sang, 
a  thought  more  harshly  than  was  his  custom. 
Sang  Maudelain: 

" Ave  Maria!  now  cry  we  so 
That  see  night  wake  and  daylight  go. 

"Mother  and  Maid,  in  nothing  incomplete, 
This  night  that  gathers  is  more  light  and  fleet 
Than  twilight  trod  alway  with  stumbling  feet, 
A  genie  s  uno  animo. 

"Ever  we  touch  the  prize  we  dare  not  take! 
Ever  we  know  that  thirst  we  dare  not  slake! 
And  ever  to  a  dreamed-of  goal  we  make — 
Est  cali  in  palatio! 

' '  Yet  long  the  road,  and  very  frail  are  we 
That  may  not  lightly  curb  mortality, 
Nor  lightly  tread  together  silently, 
Et  carmen  unum  facio: 

"Mater,  or  a  filiiim, 
Ut  post  hoc  eocilium 
Nobis  donet  gaudium 
Beatorum  omnium  ! ' ' 

Dame  Anne  had  risen.     She  said  nothing.     She  stayed 
in  this  posture  for  a  lengthy  while,   reeling,   one  hand 

128 


yet  clasping  cither  breast.  More  lately  she  laughed,  and 
began  to  speak  of  Long  Simon's  recent  fever.  Was  there 
no  method  of  establishing  him  in  another  cottage?  No, 
the  priest  said,  the  villicns,  like  the  cattle,  were  by  ordinary 
deeded  with  the  land. 

One  day,  about  the  hour  of  prime,  in  that  season  of 
the  year  when  fields  smell  of  young  grass,  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  sent  for  Edward  Maudelain.  The  court  was 
then  at  Windsor.  The  priest  came  quickly  to  his  patron. 
He  found  the  Duke  in  company  with  Edmund  of  York 
and  bland  Harry  of  Derby,  John  of  Gaunt's  oldest  son. 
Each  was  a  proud  and  handsome  man.  To-day  Glouces 
ter  was  gnawing  at  his  finger  nails,  big  York  seemed 
half-asleep,  and  the  Earl  of  Derby  patiently  to  await 
something  as  yet  ineffably  remote. 

''Sit  down!"  snarled  Gloucester.  His  lean  and  evil 
countenance  was  that  of  a  tired  devil.  The  priest 
obeyed,  wondering  so  high  an  honor  should  be  accorded 
him  in  the  view  of  three  gieat  noblemen.  Then  Glouces 
ter  said,  in  his  sharp  way:  "Edward,  you  know,  as 
England  knows,  the  King's  intention  toward  us  three 
and  our  adherents.  It  has  come  to  our  demolishment  or 
his.  I  confess  a  preference  in  the  matter.  I  have  con 
sulted  with  the  Pope  concerning  the  advisability  of  taking 
the  crown  into  my  own  hands.  Edmund  here  does  not 
want  it,  and  John  is  already  achieving  one  in  Spain. 
Eh,  in  imagination  I  was  already  King  of  England,  and 
I  had  dreamed—  Well !  to-day  the  prosaic  courier  arrived. 
Urban — the  Neapolitan  swine! — dares  give  me  no  assist 
ance.  It  is  decreed  I  shall  never  reign  in  these  islands. 
And  I  had  dreamed—  Meanwhile,  de  Vere  and  de  la  Pole 
are  at  the  King  day  and  night,  urging  revolt.  Within 
the  week  the  three  heads  of  us  will  embellish  Temple  Bar. 
You,  of  course,  they  will  only  hang." 

129 


"We  must  avoid  England,  then,  my  noble  patron," 
the  priest  considered. 

Angrily  the  Duke  struck  a  clenched  fist  upon  the  table. 
"By  the  Cross!  we  remain  in  England,  you  and  I  and  all 
of  us.  Others  avoid.  The  Pope  and  the  Emperor  will 
have  none  of  me.  They  plead  for  the  Black  Prince's 
heir,  for  the  legitimate  heir.  Dompnedex!  they  shall  have 
him!" 

Maudelain  recoiled,  for  he  thought  this  twitching  man 
insane. 

"Besides,  the  King  intends  to  take  from  me  my  fief 
at  Sudbury,"  said  the  Duke  of  York,  "in  order  he  may 
give  it  to  de  Vere.  That  is  both  absurd  and  monstrous 
and  abominable." 

Openly  Gloucester  sneered.  "Listen!"  he  rapped  out 
toward  Maudelain;  "when  they  were  drawing  up  the 
Great  Peace  at  Bretigny,  it  happened,  as  is  notorious,  that 
the  Black  Prince,  my  brother,  wooed  in  this  town  the 
Demoiselle  Alixe  Riczi,  whom  in  the  outcome  he  abducted. 
It  is  not  as  generally  known,  however,  that,  finding  this 
sister  of  the  Vicomte  de  Montbrison  a  girl  of  obdurate 
virtue,  he  had  prefaced  the  action  by  marriage." 

"And  what  have  I  to  do  with  all  this?"  said  Edward 
Maudelain. 

Gloucester  retorted:  "More  than  you  think.  For  she 
was  conveyed  to  Chert sey,  here  in  England,  where  at  the 
year's  end  she  died  in  childbirth.  A  little  before  this  time 
had  Sir  Thomas  Holland  seen  his  last  day — the  husband 
of  that  Joane  of  Kent  whom  throughout  life  my  brother 
loved  most  marvellously.  The  disposition  of  the  late 
Queen-Mother  is  tolerably  well-known.  I  make  no  com 
ment  save  that  to  her  moulding  my  brother  was  as  so 
much  wax.  In  fine,  the  two  lovers  were  presently 
married,  and  their  son  reigns  to-day  in  England.  The 

130 


of 

abandoned  son  of  Alixe  Riczi  was  reared  by  the  Cister 
cians  at  Chertsey,  where  some  years  ago  I  found  you— 
sire." 

He  spoke  with  a  stifled  voice,  and  wrenching  forth  each 
sentence;  and  now  with  a  stiff  forefinger  flipped  a  paper 
across  the  table.  "In  extremis  my  brother  did  far  more 
than  confess.  He  signed — your  Grace,"  said  Gloucester. 
The  Duke  on  a  sudden  flung  out  his  hands,  like  a  wizard 
whose  necromancy  fails,  and  the  palms  were  bloodied 
where  his  nails  had  cut  the  flesh. 

''Moreover,  my  daughter  was  born  at  Sudbury,"  said 
the  Duke  of  York. 

And  of  Maudelain's  face  I  cannot  tell  you.  He  made 
pretence  to  read  the  paper  carefully,  but  ever  his  eyes 
roved,  and  he  knew  that  he  stood  among  wolves.  The 
room  was  oddly  shaped,  with  eight  equal  sides;  the 
ceiling  was  of  a  light  and  brilliant  blue,  powdered  with 
many  golden  stars,  and  the  walls  were  hung  with  smart 
tapestries  which  commemorated  the  exploits  of  Theseus. 
4 "King,"  this  Maudelain  said  aloud,  "of  France  and  Eng 
land,  and  Lord  of  Ireland,  and  Duke  of  Aquitaine!  I 
perceive  that  Heaven  loves  a  jest."  He  wheeled  upon 
Gloucester  and  spoke  with  singular  irrelevance:  "And  the 
titular  Queen?" 

Again  the  Duke  shrugged.  "I  had  not  thought  of  the 
dumb  wench.  We  have  many  convents." 

And  now  Maudelain  twisted  the  paper  between  his  long, 
wet  fingers  and  appeared  to  meditate. 

"It  would  be  advisable,  your  Grace,"  observed  the 
Earl  of  Derby,  suavely,  and  breaking  his  silence  for  the 
first  time,  "that  yourself  should  wed  Dame  Anne,  once 
the  Apostolic  See  has  granted  the  necessary  dispensation. 
Treading  too  close  upon  the  impendent  death  of  our 
nominal  lord  the  so-called  King,  the  foreign  war  perhaps 

10  131 


necessitated  by  her  exile  would  be  highly  inconven 
ient." 

Then  these  three  princes  rose  and  knelt  before  the 
priest;  in  long  bright  garments  they  were  clad,  and  they 
glittered  with  gold  and  many  jewels,  what  while  he 
standing  among  them  shuddered  in  his  sombre  robe. 
"Hail,  King  of  England!"  cried  these  three. 

"Hail,  ye  that  are  my  kinsmen!"  he  answered;  "hail, 
ye  that  spring  of  an  accursed  race,  as  I!  And  woe  to 
England  for  that  fearful  hour  wherein  Foulques  the 
Querulous  held  traffic  with  a  devil  and  on  her  begot  the 
first  of  us  Plantagenets !  Of  ice  and  of  lust  and  of  hell- 
fire  are  all  we  sprung ;  old  records  attest  it ;  and  fickle  and 
cold  and  ravenous  and  without  shame  are  we  Plantagenets 
until  the  end.  Of  your  brother's  dishonor  ye  make 
merchandise  to-day,  and  to-day  fratricide  whispers  me, 
and  leers,  and,  Heaven  help  me!  I  attend.  O  God  of 
Gods!  wilt  Thou  dare  bid  a  man  live  stainless,  having 
aforetime  filled  his  veins  with  such  a  venom?  Then 
haro,  will  I  cry  from  Thy  deepest  hell  .  .  .  Nay,  now 
let  Lucifer  rejoice  for  that  his  descendants  know  of  what 
wood  to  make  a  crutch!  You  are  very  wise,  my  kinsmen. 
Take  your  measures,  messieurs  who  are  my  kinsmen! 
Though  were  I  any  other  than  a  Plantagenet,  with  what 
expedition  would  I  now  kill  you  that  recognize  the 
strength  to  do  it!  then  would  I  slay  you!  without  any 
animosity,  would  I  slay  you  then,  and  just  as  I  would 
kill  as  many  splendid  snakes!" 

He  went  away,  laughing  horribly.  Gloucester  drummed 
upon  the  table,  his  brows  contracted.  But  the  lean  Duke 
said  nothing;  big  York  seemed  to  drowse;  and  Henry 
of  Derby  smiled  as  he  sounded  a  gong  for  that  scribe 
who  would  draw  up  the  necessary  letters.  The  Earl's 
time  was  not  yet  come,  but  it  was  nearing. 

132 


Paintine  bv  Howard  Pvlc 


HAIL      YE     THAT      ARE      MY      KINSMEN!'" 


In  the  antechamber  the  priest  encountered  two  men- 
at-arms  dragging  a  dead  body  from  the  castle.  The 
Duke  of  Kent,  Maudelain  was  informed,  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  a  peasant  girl,  and  in  remonstrance  her  mis 
guided  father  had  actually  tugged  at  his  Grace's  sleeve. 

Maudelain  went  first  into  the  park  of  Windsor,  where 
he  walked  for  a  long  while  alone.  It  was  a  fine  day  in  the 
middle  spring ;  and  now  he  seemed  to  understand  for  the 
first  time  how  fair  his  England  was.  For  entire  England 
was  his  splendid  fief,  held  in  vassalage  to  God  and  to 
no  man  alive,  his  heart  now  sang;  alhvhither  his  empire 
spread,  opulent  in  grain  and  metal  and  every  revenue  of 
the  earth,  and  in  stalwart  men  (his  chattels),  and  in  strong 
orderly  cities,  where  the  window's  wrould  be  adorned 
with  scarlet  hangings,  and  women  (with  golden  hair  and 
red  lax  lips)  would  presently  admire  as  King  Edward 
rode  slowly  by  at  the  head  of  a  resplendent  retinue. 
And  always  the  King  would  bow,  graciously  and  without 
haste,  to  his  shouting  people.  ...  He  laughed  to  find 
himself  already  at  rehearsal  of  the  gesture. 

It  was  strange,  though,  that  in  this  glorious  fief  of  his 
so  many  persons  should,  as  yet,  live  day  by  day  as  cattle 
live,  suspicious  of  all  other  moving  things  (with  reason), 
and  roused  from  their  incurious  and  filthy  apathy  only 
when  some  glittering  baron,  like  a  resistless  eagle,  swept 
uncomfortably  near  on  some  by-errand  of  the  more 
bright  and  windy  upper- WTO rid.  East  and  north  they  had 
gone  yearly,  for  so  many  centuries,  these  dumb  peasants, 
like  herded  sheep,  so  that  in  the  outcome  their  carcasses 
might  manure  the  soil  of  France  yonder  or  of  more  barren 
Scotland.  Give  these  serfs  a  king,  now,  who  (being 
absolute),  might  dare  to  deal  in  perfect  equity  with  rich 
and  poor,  who  with  his  advent  would  bring  Peace  into 
England  as  his  bride,  as  Trygceus  did  very  anciently  in 

133 


Athens —  "And  then,"  the  priest  paraphrased,  "may 
England  recover  all  the  blessings  she  has  lost,  and  every 
where  the  glitter  of  active  steel  will  cease."  For  every 
where  men  would  crack  a  rustic  jest  or  two,  unhurriedly. 
The  vivid  fields  would  blacken  under  their  sluggish 
ploughs,  and  they  would  find  that  with  practice  it  was 
almost  as  easy  to  chuckle  as  it  was  to  cringe. 

Meanwhile  on  every  side  the  nobles  tyrannized  in  their 
degree,  well  clothed  and  nourished,  but  at  bottom  equal 
ly  comfortless  in  condition.  As  illuminate  by  lightning 
Maudelain  saw  the  many  factions  of  his  barons  squabbling 
for  gross  pleasures,  like  wolves  over  a  corpse,  and  blindly 
dealing  death  to  one  another  to  secure  at  least  one  more 
delicious  gulp  before  that  inevitable  mangling  by  the 
teeth  of  some  burlier  colleague.  The  complete  misery  of 
England  showed  before  him  like  a  winter  landscape. 
The  thing  was  questionless.  He  must  tread  hencefor 
ward  without  fear  among  frenzied  beasts,  and  to  their 
ultimate  welfare.  On  a  sudden  Maudelain  knew  himself 
to  be  strong  and  admirable  throughout,  and  hesitancy 
ebbed. 

True,  Richard,  poor  fool,  must  die.  Squarely  the  priest 
faced  that  stark  and  hideous  circumstance;  to  spare 
Richard  was  beyond  his  power,  and  the  boy  was  his 
brother;  yes,  this  oncoming  king  would  be  in  effect  a 
fratricide,  and  after  death  irrevocably  damned.  To 
burn,  and  eternally  to  burn,  and,  worst  of  all,  to  know 
that  the  torment  was  eternal!  ay,  it  would  be  hard;  but, 
at  the  cost  of  one  ignoble  life  and  one  inconsiderable  soul, 
to  win  so  many  men  to  manhood  bedazzled  his  every 
faculty,  in  anticipation  of  the  exploit. 

The  tale  tells  that  Maudelain  went  toward  the  little 
garden  he  knew  so  well  which  adjoined  Dame  Anne's 
apartments.  He  found  the  Queen  there,  alone,  as  nowa- 


days  she  was  for  the  most  part,  and  he  paused  to  wonder 
at  her  bright  and  singular  beauty.  How  vaguely  odd  it 
was,  he  reflected,  too,  how  alien  in  its  effect  to  that  of 
any  other  woman  in  sturdy  England,  and  how  associable 
it  was,  somehow,  with  every  wild  and  gracious  denizen 
of  the  woods  which  blossomed  yonder. 

In  this  place  the  world  was  all  sunlight,  temperate 
but  undiluted.  They  had  met  in  a  wide,  unshaded  plot 
of  grass,  too  short  to  ripple,  which  everywhere  glowed 
steadily,  like  a  gem.  Right  and  left  birds  sang  as  in  a 
contest.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  a  faint  and  radiant 
blue  throughout,  save  where  the  sun  stayed  as  yet  in 
the  zenith,  so  that  the  Queen's  brows  cast  honey-colored 
shadows  upon  either  cheek.  The  priest  was  greatly 
troubled  by  the  proud  and  heatless  brilliancies,  the 
shrill  joys,  of  every  object  writhin  the  radius  of  his  senses. 

She  was  splendidly  clothed,  in  a  kirtle  of  very  bright 
green,  tinted  like  the  verdancy  of  young  ferns  in  sun 
light,  and  over  all  a  gown  of  white,  cut  open  on  either 
side  as  far  as  the  hips.  This  garment  was  embroidered 
with  golden  leopards  and  trimmed  with  ermine.  About 
her  yellow  hair  was  a  chaplet  of  gold,  wherein  emeralds 
glowed.  Her  blue  eyes  were  as  large  and  bright  and 
changeable  (he  thought)  as  two  oceans  in  midsummer; 
and  Maudelain  stood  motionless  and  seemed  to  himself 
but  to  revere,  as  the  Earl  Ixion  did,  some  bright  and  never 
stable  wisp  of  cloud,  while  somehow  all  elation  departed 
from  him  as  water  does  from  a  wetted  sponge  compressed. 
He  laughed  discordantly ;  but  within  the  moment  his  sun 
lit  face  was  still  and  glorious,  like  that  of  an  image. 

"Wait — !  O  my  only  friend — !"  said  Maudelain. 
Then  in  a  level  voice  he  told  her  all,  unhurriedly  and 
without  any  sensible  emotion. 

She  had  breathed  once,  with  an  aweful  inhalation.    She 


had  screened  her  countenance  from  his  gaze  what  while 
you  might  have  counted  fifty.  More  lately  the  lithe 
body  of  Dame  Anne  was  alert,  as  one  suddenly  aroused 
from  dreaming.  "This  means  more  war,  for  de  Vere 
and  Tressilian  and  de  la  Pole  and  Bramber  and  others  of 
the  barons  know  that  the  King's  fall  signifies  their  ruin. 
Many  thousands  die  to-morrow." 

He  answered,  "It  means  a  brief  and  cruel  war." 

"In  that  war  the  nobles  will  ride  abroad  with  banners 
and  gay  surcoats,  and  kill  and  ravish  in  the  pauses  of 
their  songs;  while  daily  in  that  war  the  naked  peasants 
will  kill  the  one  the  other,  without  knowing  why." 

His  thought  had  forerun  hers.  "Many  wrould  die,  but 
in  the  end  I  would  be  King,  and  the  general  happiness 
would  rest  at  my  disposal.  The  adventure  of  this  world 
is  wonderful,  and  it  goes  otherwise  than  under  the  strict 
tutelage  of  reason." 

"Not  yours,  but  Gloucester's  and  his  barons'.  Friend, 
they  would  set  you  on  the  throne  to  be  their  puppet  and 
to  move  only  as  they  pulled  the  strings.  Thwart  them 
and  they  will  fling  you  aside,  as  the  barons  have  dealt 
aforetime  with  every  king  that  dared  oppose  them. 
Nay,  they  desire  to  live  pleasantly,  to  have  fish  o'  Fridays, 
and  white  bread  and  the  finest  wine  the  whole  year 
through,  and  there  is  not  enough  for  all,  say  they.  Can 
you  alone  contend  against  them?  and  conquer  them? 
then  only  do  I  bid  you  reign." 

The  sun  had  grown  too  bright,  too  merciless,  but  as 
always  she  drewr  the  truth  from  him,  even  to  his  agony. 
"I  cannot.  I  would  not  endure  a  fortnight.  Heaven 
help  us,  nor  you  nor  I  nor  any  one  may  transform  of  any 
personal  force  this  bitter  time,  this  piercing,  cruel  day  of 
frost  and  sun.  Charity  and  Truth  are  excommunicate, 
and  the  King  is  only  an  adorned  and  fearful  person  who 

136 


tlj?    ^at 

leads  wolves  toward  their  quarry,  lest,  lacking  it,  they 
turn  and  devour  him.  Everywhere  the  powerful  labor  to 
put  one  another  out  of  worship,  and  each  to  stand  the 
higher  with  the  other's  corpse  as  his  pedestal;  and 
always  Lechery  and  Hatred  sway  these  proud  and  in 
considerate  fools  as  winds  blow  at  will  the  gay  leaves  of 
autumn.  We  but  fight  with  gaudy  shadows,  we  but 
aspire  to  overpass  a  mountain  of  unstable  sand!  We 
two  alone  of  all  the  scuffling  world!  Oh,  it  is  horrible, 
and  I  think  that  Satan  plans  the  jest!  We  dream  a 
while  of  refashioning  this  bleak  universe,  and  we  know 
that  we  alone  can  do  it!  and  we  are  as  demigods,  you 
and  I,  in  those  gallant  dreams!  and  at  the  end  we  can 
but  poultice  some  dirty  rascal!" 

The  Queen  answered  sadly:  "Once  did  God  tread  the 
tangible  world,  for  a  very  little  \vhile,  and,  look  you,  to 
what  trivial  matters  He  devoted  that  brief  space!  Only 
to  chat  with  fishermen,  and  to  reason  with  lost  women, 
and  habitually  to  consort  with  rascals,  till  at  last  He 
might  die  between  two  cutpurses,  ignominiously !  Were 
the  considerate  persons  of  His  day  moved  at  all  by  the 
death  of  this  fanatic?  I  bid  you  now  enumerate 
through  what  long  halls  did  the  sleek  heralds  proclaim 
His  crucifixion!  and  the  armament  of  great- jowled  em 
perors  that  were  distraught  by  it?" 

He  answered:  "It  is  true.  Of  anise  even  and  of  cumin 
the  Master  estimates  His  tithe —  Maudelain  broke 
off  with  a  yapping  laugh.  "Puf!  He  is  wiser  than  we. 
I  am  King  of  England.  It  is  my  heritage." 

"It  means  war.  Many  will  die,  many  thousands  will 
die,  and  to  no  betterment  of  affairs." 

"I  am  King  of  England.  I  am  Heaven's  satrap  here, 
and  answerable  to  Heaven  alone.  It  is  my  heritage. ' '  And 
now  his  large  and  cruel  eyes  flamed  as  he  regarded  her, 

i,37 


And  visibly  beneath  their  glare  the  woman  changed. 
"My  friend,  must  I  not  love  you  any  longer?  You  would 
be  content  with  happiness  ?  I  am  jealous  of  that  happi 
ness!  for  you  are  the  one  friend  that  I  have  had,  and  so 
dear  to  me —  Look  you!"  she  said,  with  a  light,  wistful 
laugh,  "there  have  been  times  when  I  was  afraid  of  every 
thing  you  touched,  and  I  hated  everything  you  looked  at. 
I  would  not  have  you  stained;  I  desired  but  to  pass  my 
whole  life  between  the  four  walls  of  some  dingy  and 
eternal  gaol,  forever  alone  with  you,  lest  you  become  as 
other  men.  I  would  in  that  period  have  been  the  very 
bread  you  eat,  the  least  perfume  which  delights  you, 
the  clod  you  touch  in  crushing  it,  and  often  I  have  loathed 
some  pleasure  I  derived  from  life  because  I  might  not 
transfer  it  to  you  undiminished.  For  I  wanted  somehow 
to  make  you  happy  to  my  own  anguish.  ...  It  was  wick 
ed,  I  suppose,  for  the  imagining  of  it  made  me  happy, 
too." 

Throughout  she  spoke  as  simply  as  a  child. 

And  beside  him  Maudelain's  hands  had  fallen  like 
so  much  lead,  and  remembering  his  own  nature,  he 
longed  for  annihilation  only,  before  she  had  appraised  his 
vileness.  In  consequence  he  said: 

"With  reason  Augustine  crieth  out  against  the  lust 
of  the  eyes.  'For  pleasure  seeketh  objects  beautiful, 
melodious,  fragrant,  savory,  and  soft;  but  this  disease 
those  contrary  as  well,  not  for  the  sake  of  suffering 
annoyance,  but  out  of  the  lust  of  making  trial  of  them!' 
Ah!  ah!  too  curiously  I  planned  my  own  damnation,  too 
presumptuously  I  had  esteemed  my  soul  a  wrorthy  scape 
goat,  and  I  had  gilded  my  enormity  with  many  lies. 
Yet  indeed,  indeed,  I  had  believed  brave  things,  I  had 
planned  a  not  ignoble  bargain — !  Ey,  say,  is  it  not 
laughable,  madame? — as  my  birthright  Heaven  accords 

1.38 


IHnrg    df   tfje 

me  a  penny,  and  with  that  only  penny  I  must  anon  be 
seeking  to  bribe  Heaven." 

Presently  he  said:  ''Yet  are  we  indeed  God's  satraps, 
as  but  now  I  cried  in  my  vainglory,  and  we  hold  within 
our  palms  the  destiny  of  many  peoples.  Depardieux! 
He  is  wiser  than  we  are,  it  may  be!  And  as  always 
Satan  offers  no  unhandsome  bribes — bribes  that  are 
tangible  and  sure." 

They  stood  like  effigies,  lit  by  the  broad,  unsparing 
splendor  of  the  morning,  but  again  their  kindling  eyes  had 
met,  and  again  the  man  shuddered  visibly,  convulsed 
by  a  monstrous  and  repulsive  joy.  "Decide!  oh,  decide 
very  quickly,  my  only  friend!"  he  wailed,  "for  through 
out' I  am  all  filth!" 

Closer  she  drew  to  him  and  without  hesitancy  laid  one 
hand  on  either  shoulder.  "O  my  only  friend!"  she 
breathed,  with  red  lax  lips  which  were  very  near  to  his, 
"throughout  so  many  years  I  have  ranked  your  friend 
ship  as  the  chief  of  all  my  honors!  and  I  pray  God  with 
an  entire  heart  that  I  may  die  so  soon  as  I  have  done 
what  I  must  do  to-day!" 

Almost  did  Edward  Maudelain  smile,  but  now  his 
stiffening  mouth  could  not  complete  the  brave  attempt. 
"God  save  King  Richard!"  said  the  priest.  "For  by 
the  cowardice  and  greed  and  ignorance  of  little  men  were 
Salomon  himself  confounded,  and  by  them  is  Hercules 
lightly  unhorsed.  Were  I  Leviathan,  whose  bones  were 
long  ago  picked  clean  by  pismires,  I  could  perform 
nothing.  Therefore  do  you  pronounce  my  doom." 

"O  King,"  then  said  Dame  Anne,  "I  bid  you  go  for 
ever  from  the  court  and  live  forever  a  landless  man,  and 
friendless,  and  without  even  name.  I  bid  you  dare  to 
cast  aside  all  happiness  and  wealth  and  comfort  and 
each  common  tie  that  even  a  pickpocket  may  boast,  like 


tawdry  and  unworthy  garments.  In  fine,  I  bid  you  dare 
be  King  and  absolute,  yet  not  of  England — but  of  your 
own  being,  alike  in  motion  and  in  thought  and  even  in 
wish.  This  doom  I  dare  adjudge  and  to  pronounce, 
since  we  are  royal  and  God's  satraps,  you  and  I." 

Twice  or  thrice  his  dry  lips  moved  before  he  spoke. 
He  was  aware  of  innumerable  birds  that  carolled  with  a 
piercing  and  intolerable  sweetness.  "O  Queen!"  he 
hoarsely  said,  "O  fellow  satrap!  Heaven  has  many 
fiefs.  A  fair  province  is  wasted  and  accords  no  revenue. 
Therein  waste  beauty  and  a  shrewd  wit  and  an  illimit 
able  charity  which  of  their  pride  go  in  fetters  and  achieve 
no  increase.  To-day  the  young  King  junkets  with  his 
flatterers,  and  but  rarely  thinks  of  England.  You  have 
that  beauty  in  desire  of  which  many  and  many  a  man 
would  blithely  enter  hell,  and  the  mere  sight  of  which 
may  well  cause  a  man's  voice  to  tremble  as  my  voice 
trembles  now,  and  in  desire  of  which—  But  I  tread  afield ! 
Of  that  beauty  you  have  made  no  profit.  O  daughter 
of  the  Caesars,  I  bid  you  now  gird  either  loin  for  an  unlovely 
traffic.  Old  Legion  must  be  fought  with  fire.  True 
that  the  age  is  sick,  that  we  may  not  cure,  we  can  but 
salve  the  hurt—  Now  had  his  hand  torn  open  his 
sombre  gown,  and  the  man's  bared  breast  shone  in  the 
sunlight,  and  everywhere  heaved  on  it  sleek  and  glittering 
beads  of  sweat.  Twice  he  cried  the  Queen's  name  aloud, 
without  prefix.  In  a  while  he  said:  "I  bid  you  weave 
incessantly  such  snares  of  brain  and  body  as  may  lure 
King  Richard  to  be  swayed  by  you,  until  against  his  will 
you  daily  guide  this  shallow-hearted  fool  to  some  com 
mendable  action.  I  bid  you  live  as  other  folk  do  here 
abouts.  Coax!  beg!  cheat!  wheedle!  lie!"  he  barked 
like  a  teased  dog,  "till  you  achieve  in  part  the  task  which 
is  denied  me.  This  doom  I  dare  adjudge  and  to  pro- 

140 


21  1| 


of 


nounce,  since  we  are  royal  and  God's  satraps,  you 
and  I." 

She  answered  with  a  tiny,  wordless  sound.  He 
prayed  for  even  horror  as  he  appraised  his  handiwork. 
But  presently,  "I  take  my  doom,'-'  the  Queen  proudly 
said.  "I  shall  be  lonely  now,  my  only  friend,  and  yet  — 
it  does  not  matter,"  the  Queen  said,  with  a  little  shiver. 
"No,  nothing  will  ever  greatly  matter  now,  I  think." 

Her  eyes  had  filled  with  tears  ;  she  was  unhappy,  and  as 
always  this  knowledge  roused  in  Maudelain  a  sort  of 
frenzied  pity  and  a  hatred,  quite  illogical,  of  all  other 
things  existent.  She  was  unhappy,  that  only  he  realized  ; 
and  half  way  he  had  strained  a  soft  and  groping  hand 
toward,  his  lips  when  he  relinquished  it.  "Nay,  not  even 
that,"  said  Edward  Maudelain,  very  proudly,  too,  and  now 
at  last  he  smiled;  "since  we  are  God's  satraps,  you  and  I." 

Aftenvard  he  stood  thus  for  an  appreciable  silence, 
with  ravenous  eyes,  motionless  save  that  behind  his  back 
his  fingers  were  bruising  one  another.  Everywhere 
was  this  or  that  bright  color  and  an  incessant  melody. 
It  was  unbearable.  Then  it  wras  over;  the  ordered 
progress  of  all  happenings  was  apparent,  simple,  and 
natural;  and  contentment  came  into  his  heart  like  a 
flight  of  linnets  over  level  fields  at  dawn.  He  left  her, 
and  as  he  went  he  sang. 

Sang  Maudelain: 

"Christ  save  us  all,  as  well  He  can, 

A  soils  ortiis  cardine! 
For  He  is  both  God  and  man, 

Qui  natiis  est  de  virgine, 
And  we  but  part  of  His  wide  plan 
That  sing,  and  heartily  sing  we, 
'Gloria  Tibi,  Domine!' 
141 


Qlljitialrg 

"Between  a  heifer  and  an  ass 

Enixa  est  pnerpera; 
In  ragged  woollen  clad  He  was 

Qni  regnal  super  (Ether a, 
And  patiently  may  we  then  pass 
That  sing,  and  heartily  sing  we, 
'Gloria  Tibi,  D omine!" 

The  Queen  shivered  in  the  glad  sunlight.  "I  am,  it 
must  be,  pitiably  weak,"  she  said  at  last,  "because  I 
cannot  sing  as  he  does.  And,  since  I  am  not  very  wise, 
were  he  to  return  even  now—  But  he  will  not  return. 
He  will  never  return,"  the  Queen  repeated,  carefully, 
and  over  and  over  again.  "It  is  strange  I  cannot  com 
prehend  that  he  will  never  return!  Ah,  Mother  of  God!" 
she  cried,  with  a  steadier  voice,  ' 'grant  that  I  may  weep! 
nay,  of  thy  infinite  mercy  let  me  presently  find  the  heart 
to  weep!"  And  about  the  Queen  of  England  many  birds 
sang  joyously. 

Next  day  the  English  barons  held  a  council,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  King  Richard  demanded  to  be  told  his  age. 

"Your  Grace  is  in  your  twenty-second  year,"  said  the 
uneasy  Gloucester,  and  now  with  reason  troubled,  since 
he  had  been  seeking  all  night  long  for  the  evanished 
Maudelain. 

"Then  I  have  been  under  tutors  and  governors  longer 
than  any  other  wrard  in  my  dominion.  My  lords,  I  thank 
you  for  your  past  services,  but  I  need  them  no  more." 
They  had  no  check  handy,  and  Gloucester  in  particular 
foreread  his  death-warrant,  but  of  necessity  he  shouted 
with  the  others,  "Hail,  King  of  England!" 

That  afternoon  the  King's  assumption  of  all  royal 
responsibility  was  commemorated  by  a  tournament,  over 
which  Dame  Anne  presided.  Sixty  of  her  ladies  led  as 

142 


§>i0rg   nf  ilje 

many  knights  by  silver  chains  into  the  tilting-grounds 
at  Smithfield,  and  it  was  remarked  that  the  Queen  ap 
peared  unusually  mirthful.  The  King  was  in  high  good 
humor,  already  a  pattern  of  conjugal  devotion;  and  the 
royal  pair  retired  at  dusk  to  the  Bishop  of  London's 
palace  at  Saint  Paul's,  where  was  held  a  merry  banquet, 
with  dancing  both  before  and  after  supper. 


THE    END    OF    THE    SIXTH    NOVEL 


VII 
of 


Pour  vous  je  suis  en  prison  wise, 
En  ceste  chambre  a  voulte  grise, 
Et  traineray  ma  tristc  vie 
Sans  que  jamais  mon  cueiir  varie, 
Car  to  it  jours  seray  vostre  aniye" 


THE  SEVENTH  NOVEL. ISABEL  OF  VALOIS,  BEING  FOR 
SAKEN  BY  ALL  OTHERS,  IS  BEFRIENDED  BY  A  PRIEST, 
WHO,  IN  CHIEF  THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  INNOCENCE,  CON 
TRIVES  AND  EXECUTES  A  LAUDABLE  IMPOSTURE,  AND  WINS 
TO  DEATH  THEREBY. 


g>t0rg   of  ttyt 


'N  the  year  of  grace  1399  (Nicolas  begins) 
dwelt  in  a  hut  near  Caer  Dathyl  in  Ar- 
von,as  he  had  done  for  some  five  years, 
a  gaunt  hermit,  notoriously  consecrate, 
whom  neighboring  Welshmen  revered  as 
the  Blessed  Evrawc.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  people  called  him  Edward  Maudelain,  but 
this  period  he  dared  not  often  remember. 

For  though  in  macerations  of  the  flesh,  in  fasting,  and 
in  hour-long  prayers  he  spent  his  days,  this  holy  man 
was  much  troubled  by  devils.  He  got  little  rest  because 
of  them.  Sometimes  would  come  into  his  hut  Belphegor 
in  the  likeness  of  a  butler,  and  whisper,  "Sire,  had  you 
been  King,  as  was  your  right,  you  had  drunk  to-day  not 
water  but  the  wines  of  Spain  and  Hungary."  Or  Asmo- 
deus  saying,  ''Sire,  had  you  been  King,  as  was  your 
right,  you  had  lain  now  on  cushions  of  silk." 

One  day  in  early  spring  came  a  more  cunning  devil, 
named  Bembo,  in  the  likeness  of  a  fair  woman  with  yellow 
hair  and  large  blue  eyes.  She  wore  a  massive  crown 
which  seemed  too  heavy  for  her  frailness  to  sustain.  Soft 
tranquil  eyes  had  lifted  from  her  book.  "You  are  my 
cousin  now,  messire,"  this  phantom  had  appeared  to  say. 
That  was  the  worst,  and  Maudelain  began  to  fear  he 
was  a  little  mad  because  even  this  he  had  resisted  with 
many  aves. 

«  147 


There  came  also  to  his  hut,  through  a  sullen  snow 
storm,  upon  the  afternoon  of  All  Soul's  day,  a  horseman 
in  a  long  cloak  of  black.  He  tethered  his  black  horse 
without  and  strode  softly  through  the  door,  and  upon  his 
breast  and  shoulders  the  snow  was  white  as  the  bleached 
bones  of  those  women  that  died  in  Merlin's  youth. 

"Greetings  in  God's  name,  Messire  Edward  Maude- 
lain,"  the  stranger  said. 

Since  the  new-comer  spoke  intrepidly  of  holy  things  a 
cheerier  Maudelain  knew  that  this  at  least  was  no  demon. 
"Greetings!"  he  answered.  "But  I  am  Evrawc.  You 
name  a  man  long  dead." 

"But  it  is  from  a  certain  Bohemian  woman  I  come. 
What  matter,  then,  if  the  dead  receive  me?"  And  thus 
speaking,  the  stranger  dropped  his  cloak. 

In  flame-colored  satin  he  was  clad,  which  shimmered 
with  each  movement  like  a  high  flame,  and  his  counte 
nance  had  throughout  the  color  and  the  glow  of  amber. 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  very  tender,  and  the  tears  some 
how  had  come  to  Maudelain's  eyes  because  of  a  sudden 
and  great  love  for  this  tall  stranger.  "Eh,  from  the 
dead  to  the  dead  I  travel,  as  ever,  with  a  message  and  a 
token.  My  message  runs,  Time  is,  0  fellow  satrap! 
and  my  token  is  this." 

And  in  this  packet,  wrapped  with  white  parchment 
and  tied  with  a  golden  cord,  was  only  a  lock  of  hair.  It 
lay  like  a  little  yellow  serpent  in  Maudelain's  palm. 
"And  yet  five  years  ago,"  he  mused,  "this  hair  was 
turned  to  dust.  God  keep  us  all!"  Then  he  saw  the  tall 
lean  emissary  puffed  out  like  a  candle-flame;  and  upon 
the  floor  he  saw  the  huddled  cloak  waver  and  spread 
like  ink,  and  the  white  parchment  slowly  dwindle,  as 
snow  melts  under  the  open  sun.  But  in  his  hand  re 
mained  the  lock  of  yellow  hair. 

148 


"IN      THE      LIKENESS      OF      A      FAIR      WOMAN 


"O  my  only  friend,"  said  Maudelain,  "I  may  not 
comprehend,  but  I  know  that  by  no  unhallowed  art 
have  you  won  back  to  me."  Hair  by  hair  he  scattered 
what  he  held  upon  the  floor.  ''Time  is!  and  I  have  not 
need  of  any  token  wherewith  to  spur  my  memory."  He 
prized  up  a  corner  of  the  hearthstone,  took  out  a  small 
leather  bag,  and  that  day  purchased  a  horse  and  a  sword. 

At  dawn  the  Blessed  Evrawc  rode  eastward  in  this 
novel  guise.  It  was  two  weeks  later  when  he  came  to 
Sunninghill;  and  it  happened  that  the  same  morning 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  who  had  excellent  reason  to 
consider  .  .  . 

Follows  a  lacuna  of  fourteen  pages.  Maudelain 's  success 
ful  imposture  of  Richard  the  Second,  so  strangely  favored 
by  their  physical  resemblance,  and  the  subsequent  fiasco  at 
Circencester,  are  now,  however,  tolerably  notorious.  It  would 
seem  evident,  from  the  Argument  of  the  story  in  hand,  that 
Nicolas  attributes  a  large  part  of  this  mysterious  business 
to  the  co-operancy  of  Isabel  of  Valois,  King  Richard's 
infant  wife.  And  (should  one  have  a  taste  for  the  deduc 
tive)  the  foregoing  mention  of  Bembo,  when  compared  with 
"  THE  STORY  OF  THE  SCABBARD,"  would  certainly  hint  that 
Owain  Glyndwyr  had  a  finger  in  the  affair. 

It  is  impossible  to  divine  by  what  method,  according  to 
Nicolas,  this  Edward  Maudelain  was  eventually  substituted 
for  his  younger  brother.  Nicolas,  if  you  are  to  believe  his 
"EPILOGUE,"  had  the  best  of  reasons  for  knowing  that  the 
prisoner  locked  up  in  Pontefract  Castle  in  the  February  of 
1400  was  not  Richard  Plantagenet:  and  this  contention  is 
strikingly  attested,  also,  by  the  remaining  fragment  of  this 
same  "STORY  OF  THE  HERITAGE." 

.  .  .  and  eight  men-at-arms  followed  him. 

149 


(CJjttiairg 

Quickly  Maudelain  rose  from  the  table,  pushing  his 
tall  chair  aside,  and  in  the  act  one  fellow  closed  the  door 
securely.  "Nay,  eat  your  fill,  Sire  Richard,"  said  Piers 
Exton,  "since  you  will  not  ever  eat  again." 

' '  Is  it  so  ? "  the  trapped  man  answered  quietly.  "Then 
indeed  you  come  in  a  good  hour."  Once  only  he  smote 
upon  his  breast.  ' '  Mea  culpa  I  O  Eternal  Father,  do  Thou 
shrive  me  very  quickly  of  all  those  sins  I  have  committed, 
both  in  thought  and  deed,  for  now  the  time  is  very  short." 

And  Exton  spat  upon  the  dusty  floor.  "Foh,  they 
had  told  me  I  would  find  a  king  here.  I  discover  only  a 
cat  that  whines." 

"Then  'ware  his  claws!"  As  a  viper  leaps  Maudelain 
sprang  upon  the  nearest  fellow  and  wrested  away  his 
halberd.  "Then  'ware  his  claws,  my  men!  For  I  come 
of  an  accursed  race.  And  now  let  some  of  you  lament 
that  fearful  hour  wherein  Foulques  the  Querulous  held 
traffic  with  a  demon  and  on  her  begot  the  first  of  us 
Plantagenets !  For  of  ice  and  of  lust  and  of  hell-fire 
are  all  we  sprung;  old  records  attest  it;  and  fickle  and 
cold  and  ravenous  and  without  fear  are  all  we  Plantag 
enets  until  the  end.  Ay,  until  the  end!  O  God  of 
Gods!"  this  Maudelain  cried,  with  a  great  voice,  "wilt 
Thou  dare  bid  a  man  die  patiently,  having  aforetime 
filled  his  veins  with  such  a  venom !  Nay,  I  lack  the  grace 
to  die  as  all  Thy  saints,  without  one  carnal  blow  struck 
in  my  own  defence.  I  lack  the  grace,  my  Father,  for 
even  at  the  last  the  devil's  blood  You  gave  me  is  not 
quelled.  I  dare  atone  for  that  old  sin  done  by  my  father 
in  the  flesh,  but  yet  I  must  atone  as  a  Plantagenet ! " 

Then  it  was  he  and  not  they  who  pressed  to  the  attack. 
Their  meeting  was  a  bloody  business,  for  in  that  dark 
and  crowded  room  Maudelain  raged  among  his  nine 
antagonists  as  an  angered  lion  among  wolves. 

150 


£>turg    uf   tije    Sj^ritag? 

They  struck  at  random  and  cursed  shrilly,  for  they 
were  now  half-afraid  of  this  prey  they  had  entrapped; 
so  that  presently  he  was  all  hacked  and  bleeding,  though 
as  yet  he  had  no  mortal  wound.  Four  of  these  men  he 
had  killed  by  this,  and  Piers  Exton  also  lay  at  his  feet. 

Then  the  other  four  drew  back  a  little.  "Are  ye  tired 
so  soon?"  said  Maudelain,  and  he  laughed  terribly. 
"What,  even  you!  Why,  look  ye,  my  bold  veterans, 
I  never  killed  before  to-day,  and  I  am  not  breathed 
as  yet." 

Thus  he  boasted,  exultant  in  his  strength.  But  the 
other  men  saw  that  behind  him  Piers  Exton  had  crawled 
into  the  chair  from  which  (they  thought)  King  Richard 
had  just  risen,  and  stood  erect  upon  the  cushions  of  it. 
They  saw  this  Exton  strike  the  King  with  his  pole-axe, 
from  behind,  and  once  only,  and  they  knew  no  more  was 
needed. 

' '  By  God ! "  said  one  of  them  in  the  ensuing  stillness,  and 
it  was  he  who  bled  the  most,  "that  was  a  felon's  blow." 

But  the  dying  man  who  lay  before  them  made  as 
though  to  smile.  ' ' I  charge  you  all  to  witness,"  he  faintly 
said,  "how  willingly  I  render  to  Caesar's  daughter  that 
which  was  ever  hers." 

Then  Exton  fretted,  as  with  a  little  trace  of  shame: 
"Who  would  have  thought  the  rascal  had  remembered 
that  first  wife  of  his  so  long?  Caesar's  daughter,  saith 
he!  and  dares  in  extremis  to  pervert  Holy  Scripture 
like  any  Wycliffite!  Well,  he  is  as  dead  as  that  first 
Caesar  now,  and  our  gracious  King,  I  think,  will  sleep  the 
better  for  it.  And  yet — God  only  knows!  for  they  are  an 
odd  race,  even  as  he  said — these  Plantagenets." 


THE  END  OF  THE  SEVENTH  NOVEL 


VIII 
Sltr   IHortj   of  tlj? 


'"  Ains-i  il  avoit  tronrc  sa  mie 
Si  belle  qu'on  put  son-hatter. 
N'avoit  cure  d'aillcurs  plaider, 
Fors  qn'avec  hit  manoir  et  estre. 
Bien  est  Amour  puissant  et  maistre." 


THE  EIGHTH  NOVEL. — BRANWEN  OF  WALES  GETS  A  KING  S 
LOVE  UNWITTINGLY,  AND  IN  ALL  INNOCENCE  CONVINCES 
HIM  OF  THE  LITTLENESS  OF  HIS  KINGDOM;  SO  THAT  HE 
BESIEGES  AND  IN  DUE  COURSE  TRIUMPHANTLY  OCCUPIES 
ANOTHER  REALM  AS  YET  UNMAPPED. 


of  tlj? 


?N  the  year  of  grace  1400  (Nicolas  begins) 
King  Richard,  the  second  monarch  of 
that  name  to  rule  in  England,  wrenched 
his  own  existence,  and  nothing  more, 
from  the  close  wiles  of  Bolingbroke. 
The  circumstances  have  been  recorded 
otherwhere.  All  persons,  saving  only  Owain  Glyndwyr 
and  Henry  of  Lancaster,  believed  King  Richard  dead 
at  that  period  when  Richard  attended  his  own  funeral, 
as  a  proceeding  taking  to  the  fancy,  and,  among  many 
others,  saw  the  body  of  Edward  Maudelain  interred 
with  every  regal  ceremony  in  the  chapel  at  Langley 
Bower.  Then  alone  Sire  Richard  crossed  the  seas,  and 
at  thirty-three  set  out  to  inspect  a  transformed  and 
gratefully  untrammelling  world  wherein  not  a  foot  of 
land  belonged  to  him. 

Holland  was  the  surname  he  assumed,  the  name  of 
his  half-brothers;  and  to  detail  his  Asian  wanderings 
were  both  tedious  and  unprofitable.  But  at  the  end  of 
each  four  months  would  come  to  him  a  certain  messenger 
from  Glyndwyr,  whom  Richard  supposed  to  be  the  devil 
Bembo,  who  notoriously  ran  every  day  around  the  world 
upon  the  Welshman's  business.  It  was  in  the  Isle  of 
Taprobane,  where  the  pismires  are  as  great  as  hounds, 
and  mine  and  store  the  gold  the  inhabitants  afterward 
rob  them  of  through  a  very  cunning  device,  that  this 

155 


Glljtttalry 

emissary  brought  the  letter  whieh  read  simply,  "Now  is 
England  lit  pasture  for  the  White  Hart."  Presently 
was  Richard  Holland  in  Wales,  and  then  he  rode  to 
Sycharth. 

There,  after  salutation,  Glyndwyr  gave  an  account  of 
his  long  stewardship.  It  was  a  puzzling  record  of  obscure 
and  tireless  machinations  with  which  we  have  no  im 
mediate  concern:  in  brief,  the  very  barons  who  had 
ousted  King  Log  had  been  the  first  to  find  King  Stork 
intolerable;  and  Northumberland,  Worcester,  Douglas, 
Mortimer,  and  so  on,  were  already  pledged  and  in  open 
revolt.  "By  the  God  I  do  not  altogether  serve,"  Owain 
ended,  "you  have  but  to  declare  yourself,  sire,  and 
within  the  moment  England  is  yours." 

More  lately  Richard  spoke  with  narrowed  eyes.  "You 
forget  that  while  Henry  of  Lancaster  lives  no  other  man 
will  ever  reign  out  a  tranquil  week  in  these  islands. 
Come  then!  the  hour  strikes;  and  we  will  coax  the  devil 
for  once  in  a  way  to  serve  God." 

"Oh,  but  there  is  a  boundary  appointed,"  Glyndwyr 
moodily  returned.  "You,  too,  forget  that  in  cold  blood 
this  Henry  stabbed  my  best-loved  son.  But  I  do  not 
forget  this,  and  I  have  tried  divers  methods  which  we 
need  not  speak  of — I  who  can  at  will  corrupt  the  air, 
and  cause  sickness  and  storms,  raise  heavy  mists,  and 
create  plagues  and  fires  and  shipwrecks;  yet  the  life  itself 
I  cannot  take.  For  there  is  a  boundary  appointed,  sire, 
and  in  the  end  the  Master  of  our  Sabbaths  cannot  serve 
us  even  though  he  would." 

And  Richard  crossed  himself.  "You  horribly  mistake 
my  meaning.  Your  practices  are  your  own  affair,  and  in 
them  T  decline  to  dabble.  I  design  but  to  trap  a  tiger 
with  his  appropriate  bait.  For  you  have  a  fief  at  Caer 
Idion,  I  think? — Very  well!  T  intend  to  herd  your  sheep 

156 


ra    flf    ttf?    l^rabharft 

there,  for  a  week  or  two,  after  the  honorable  example  of 
Apollo.  It  is  your  part  merely  to  see  that  Henry  knows  I 
live  alone  and  in  disguise  at  Caer  Idion." 

The  gaunt  Welshman  chuckled.  "Yes,  Bolingbroke 
would  cross  the  world,  much  less  the  Severn,  to  make 
quite  sure  of  Richard's  death.  He  would  come  in  his 
own  person  with  at  most  some  twenty  followers.  I 
will  have  a  hundred  there;  and  certain  aging  scores 
will  then  be  settled  in  that  place."  Glyndwyr  meditated 
afterward,  very  evilly.  "Sire,"  he  said  without  prelude, 
"I  do  not  recognize  Richard  of  Bordeaux.  You  have 
garnered  much  in  travelling!" 

"Why,  look  you,"  Richard  returned,  "I  have  garnered 
so  much  that  I  do  not  greatly  care  whether  this  scheme 
succeed  or  no.  With  age  I  begin  to  contend  even  more 
indomitably  that  a  wise  man  will  consider  nothing  very 
seriously.  You  barons  here  believe  it  an  affair  of  im 
portance  who  may  chance  to  be  the  King  of  England, 
say,  this  time  next  year;  you  take  sides  between  Henry 
and  myself.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  neither  of  us,  that 
no  man  in  the  world,  by  reason  of  innate  limitations, 
can  ever  rule  otherwise  than  abominably,  or,  ruling, 
create  anything  save  discord.  Nor  can  I  see  how  this 
matters  either,  since  the  discomfort  of  an  ant-village 
is  not,  after  all,  a  planet-wrecking  disaster.  Nay,  if  the 
planets  do  indeed  sing  together,  it  is,  depend  upon  it, 
to  the  burden  of  Fools  All.  For  I  am  as  liberally  endowed 
as  most  people;  and  when  I  consider  my  abilities,  per 
formances,  instincts,  and  so  on,  quite  aloofly,  as  I  would 
those  of  another  person,  I  can  only  shrug:  and  to  conceive 
that  common-sense,  much  less  Omnipotence,  would  ever 
concern  itself  about  the  actions  of  a  creature  so  entirely 
futile  is,  to  me  at  least,  impossible." 

"I  have  known  the  thought,"   said   O  wain— •"  though 


rarely  since  I  found  the  Englishwoman  that  was  after 
ward  my  wife,  and  never  since  my  son,  my  Gruffyd, 
was  murdered  by  a  jesting  man.  He  was  more  like  me 
than  the  others,  people  said.  .  .  .  You  are  as  yet  the  empty 
scabbard,  powerless  alike  for  help  or  hurt.  Ey,  hate  or 
love  must  be  the  sword,  sire,  that  informs  us  here,  and 
then,  if  only  for  a  little  while,  we  are  as  gods." 

"Pardie!  I  have  loved  as  often  as  Salomon,  and  in 
fourteen  kingdoms." 

"We  of  Cymry  have  a  saying,  sire,  that  when  a  man 
loves  par  amours  the  second  time  he  may  safely  assume 
that  he  has  never  been  in  love  at  all." 

"And  I  hate  Henry  of  Lancaster  as  I  do  the  devil." 

"I  greatly  fear,"  said  Owain  with  a  sigh,  "lest  it  may 
be  your  irreparable  malady  to  hate  nothing,  not  even 
that  which  you  dislike." 

So  then  Glyndwyr  rode  south  to  besiege  and  burn  the 
town  of  Caerdyf,  while  at  Caer  Idion  Richard  Holland 
tranquilly  abode  for  some  three  weeks.  There  was  in 
this  place  only  Caradawc  (the  former  shepherd),  his 
wife  Alundyne,  and  their  sole  daughter  Branwen.  They 
gladly  perceived  Sire  Richard  was  no  more  a  peasant 
than  he  was  a  curmudgeon;  as  Caradawc  observed:  ''It 
is  perfectly  apparent  that  the  robe  of  Padarn  Beisrudd 
would  fit  him  as  a  glove  does  the  hand,  but  we  will  ask 
no  questions,  since  it  is  not  wholesome  to  dispute  the 
orderings  of  Owain  Glyndwyr." 

They  did  not;  and  later  day  by  day  would  Richard 
Holland  drive  the  flocks  to  pasture  near  the  Severn,  and 
loll  there  in  the  shade,  and  make  songs  to  his  lute.  He 
grew  to  love  this  leisured  life  of  bright  and  open  spaces ; 
and  its  long  solitudes,  grateful  with  the  warm  odors  of 
growing  things  and  with  poignant  bird-noises,  and  the 
tranquillity  of  these  meadows,  that  were  always  void  of 

158 


hurry,  be  drugged  the  man  through  many  fruitless  and 
incurious  hours. 

Each  day  at  noon  would  Branwen  bring  his  dinner, 
and  sometimes  chat  with  him  while  he  ate.  After  supper 
he  would  discourse  to  Branwen  of  remote  kingdoms, 
wherethrough  he  had  ridden  at  adventure,  as  the  wind 
veers,  among  sedate  and  alien  peoples  who  adjudged 
him  a  madman;  and  she,  in  turn,  would  tell  him  many 
curious  tales  from  the  Red  Book  of  Hergest — as  of 
Gwalchmai,  and  Peredur,  and  Geraint,  in  each  one 
of  whom  she  had  presently  discerned  an  inadequate  fore- 
runnership  of  Richard's  existence. 

This  Branwen  was  a  fair  wench,  slender  as  a  wand, 
and,  in  a  harmless  way,  of  a  bold  demeanor  twin  to  that 
of  a  child  who  is  ignorant  of  evil  and  in  consequence  of 
suspicion.  Happily,  though,  had  she  been  named  for 
that  unhappy  lady  of  old,  the  wife  of  King  Matholwch, 
for  this  Branwen,  too,  had  a  white,  thin,  wistful  face, 
like  that  of  an  empress  on  a  silver  coin  which  is  a  little 
worn.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  brilliant,  colored  like 
clear  emeralds,  and  her  abundant  hair  was  so  much 
cornfloss,  only  more  brightly  yellow  and  of  immeasurably 
finer  texture.  In  full  sunlight  her  cheeks  were  frosted 
like  the  surface  of  a  peach,  but  the  underlying  cool  pink 
of  them  was  rather  that  of  a  cloud,  Richard  decided.  In 
all,  a  taking  morsel!  though  her  shapely  hands  were  hard 
with  labor,  and  she  rarely  laughed ;  for,  as  in  recompense, 
her  heart  was  tender  and  ignorant  of  discontent,  and  she 
rarely  ceased  to  smile  as  over  some  peculiar  and  wonderful 
secret  which  she  intended,  in  due  time,  to  share  with 
you  alone.  Branwen  had  many  lovers,  and  preferred 
among  them  young  GwTyllem  ap  Llyr,  a  portly  lad,  who 
was  handsome  enough,  for  all  his  tiny  and  piggish  eyes, 
and  sang  divinely. 


(ft  IT  t  ti  a  I  r  y 

Presently  this  Gwyllem  came  to  Richard  with  two 
quarter-staves.  "Saxon,"  he  said,  "you  appear  a  stout 
man.  Take  your  pick  of  these,  then,  and  have  at  you." 

"Such  are  not  the  weapons  I  would  have  named," 
Richard  answered'  "yet  in  reason,  messire,  I  may  not 
deny  you." 

With  that  they  laid  aside  their  coats  and  fell  to  exer 
cise.  In  these  unaccustomed  bouts  Richard  was  sound 
ly  drubbed,  as  he  had  anticipated,  but  throughout  he 
found  himself  the  stronger  man,  and  he  managed  some 
how  to  avoid  an  absolute  overthrow.  By  what  method 
he  never  ascertained. 

"I  have  forgotten  what  we  are  fighting  about,"  he 
observed,  after  a  half-hour  of  this;  "or,  to  be  perfectly 
exact,  I  never  knew.  But  we  will  fight  no  more  in  this 
place.  ,  Come  and  go  with  me  to  Welshpool,  Messire 
Gwyllem,  and  there  we  will  fight  to  a  conclusion  over 
good  sack  and  claret." 

"Content!"  cried  Gwyllem;  "but  only  if  you  yield  me 
Branwen." 

"  Have  we  indeed  wasted  a  whole  half -hour  in  squab 
bling  over  a  woman?"  Richard  demanded;  "like  two 
children  in  a  worldwide  toyshop  over  any  one  particular 
toy  ?  Then  devil  take  me  if  I  am  not  heartily  ashamed 
of  my  folly!  Though,  look  you,  Gwyllem,  I  would  speak 
naught  save  commendation  of  these  delicate  and  livelily- 
tinted  creatures  so  long  as  one  is  able  to  approach  them 
in  a  proper  spirit  of  levity :  it  is  only  their  not  infrequent 
misuse  which  I  would  condemn;  and  in  my  opinion  the 
person  who  elects  to  build  a  shrine  for  any  one  of  them 
has  only  himself  to  blame  if  his  divinity  will  ascend  no 
pedestal  save  the  carcass  of  his  happiness.  Yet  have 
many  men  since  time  was  young  been  addicted  to  the 
practice,  as  were  Hercules  and  Merlin  to  their  illimitable 

1 60 


sorrow;  and,  indeed,  the  more  I  reconsider  the  old  gal 
lantries  of  Salomon,  and  of  other  venerable  and  sagacious 
potentates,  the  more  profoundly  am  I  ashamed  of  my 
sex." 

Gwyllem  said:  "That  is  all  very  fine.  Perhaps  it  is 
also  reasonable.  Only  when  you  love  you  do  not  reason." 

"I  was  endeavoring  to  prove  that,"  said  Richard 
gently.  Then  they  went  to  Welshpool,  ride  and  tic  on 
Gwy Hem's  horse.  Tongue  loosened  by  the  claret,  Gwyllem 
raved  aloud  of  Branwen,  like  a  babbling  faun,  while  to 
each  rapture  Richard  affably  assented.  In  his  heart 
he  likened  the  boy  to  Dionysos  at  Naxos,  and  could  find 
no  blame  for  Ariadne.  Moreover,  the  room  was  com 
fortably  dark  and  cool,  for  thick  vines  hung  about  either 
window,  rustling  and  tapping  pleasantly,  and  Richard 
was  content. 

"She  does  not  love  me?"  Gwyllem  cried.  "It  is  well 
enough.  I  do  not  come  to  her  as  one  merchant  to  an 
other,  since  love  was  never  bartered.  Listen,  Saxon ! "  He 
caught  up  Richard's  lute.  The  strings  shrieked  beneath 
Gwyllem 's  fingers  as  he  fashioned  his  rude  song. 

Sang  Gwyllem: 

"  Love  me  or  love  me  not,  it  is  enough 
That  I  have  loved  you,  seeing  my  whole  life  is 
Uplifted  and  made  glad  by  the  glory  of  Love — 
My  life  that  was  a  scroll  all  marred  and  blurred 
With  tavern-catches,  which  thai  pity  of  his 
Erased,  and  writ  instead  one  perfect  word, 
O  Branwen! 

"I  have  accorded  you  incessant  praise 
And  song  and  service  long,  0  Love,  for  this, 
And  always  I  have  dreamed  incessantly 
161 


Who  always  dreamed,  '  When  in  oncoming  days 
This  man  or  that  shall  love  you,  and  at  last 
This  man  or  that  shall  win  you,  it  must  be 
That  loving  him  you  will  have  piiy  on  me 
When  happiness  engenders  memory 
And  long  thoughts,  nor  unkindly,  of  the  past, 
0  Branwen!' 

"I  know  not! — ah,  I  know  not,  who  am  sure 
That  I  shall  always  love  you  while  I  live! 
And  being  dead,  and  with  no  more  to  give 
Of  song  or  service? — Love  shall  yet  endure, 
And  yet  retain  his  last  prerogative, 
When  I  lie  still,  through  many  centuries, 
And  dream  of  you  and  the  exceeding  love 
I  bore  you,  and  am  glad  dreaming  thereof, 
And  give  God  thanks  therefor,  and  so  find  peace, 
0  Branwen!" 

"  Now,  were  I  to  get  as  tipsy  as  that,"  Richard  enviously 
thought,  midway  in  a  return  to  his  stolid  sheep,  "  I  would 
simply  go  to  sleep  and  wake  up  with  a  headache.  And 
were  I  to  fall  as  many  fathoms  deep  in  love  as  this  Gwyllem 
has  blundered  without  any  astonishment  I  would  perform 
—I  wonder,  now,  what  miracle?" 

For  he  was,  though  vaguely,  discontent.  This  Gwyllem 
was  so  young,  so  earnest  over  every  trifle,  and  above  all 
so  un vexed  by  any  rational  afterthought ;  and  each  desire 
controlled  him  as  varying  winds  sport  with  a  fallen  leaf, 
whose  frank  submission  to  superior  vagaries  the  boy 
appeared  to  emulate.  Richard  saw  that  in  a  fashion 
Gwyllem  was  superb.  "And  heigho!"  said  Richard, 
"  I  am  attestedly  a  greater  fool  than  he,  but  I  begin  to 
weary  of  a  folly  so  thin-blooded." 

162 


g    nf 

The  next  morning  came  a  ragged  man,  riding  upon  a 
mule.  He  claimed  to  be  a  tinker.  He  chatted  out  an 
hour  with  Richard,  who  perfectly  recognized  him  as  Sir 
Walter  Blount;  and  then  this  tinker  crossed  over  into 
England. 

And  Richard  whistled.  "  Now  will  my  cousin  be  quite 
sure,  and  now  will  my  anxious  cousin  come  to  speak  with 
Richard  of  Bordeaux.  And  now,  by  every  saint  in  the 
calendar!  I  am  as  good  as  King  of  England." 

He  sat  down  beneath  a  young  oak  and  twisted  four  or 
five  blades  of  grass  between  his  fingers  what  while  he 
meditated.  Undoubtedly  he  would  kill  Henry  of  Lan 
caster  with  a  clear  conscience  and  even  with  a  certain 
relish,  much  as  one  crushes  the  uglier  sort  of  vermin,  but, 
hand  upon  heart,  he  was  unable  to  protest  any  particularly 
ardent  desire  for  the  scoundrel's  death.  Thus  crudely 
to  demolish  the  knave's  adroit  and  year-long  schemings 
savored  of  a  tyranny  a  shade  too  gross.  The  spider 
was  venomous,  and  his  destruction  laudable;  granted, 
but  in  crushing  him  you  ruined  his  web,  a  miracle  of 
patient  malevolence,  which,  despite  yourself,  compelled 
both  admiration  and  envy.  True,  the  process  would 
recrown  a  certain  Richard,  but  then,  as  he  recalled  it, 
being  King  was  rather  tedious.  Richard  was  not  now 
quite  sure  that  he  wanted  to  be  King,  and  in  consequence 
be  daily  plagued  by  a  host  of  vexatious  and  ever-squab 
bling  barons.  "I  shall  miss  the  little  huzzy,  too,"  he 
thought. 

"Heigho!"  said  Richard,  "I  shall  console  myself  with 
purchasing  all  beautiful  things  that  can  be  touched  and 
handled.  Life  is  a  flimsy  vapor  which  passes  and  is  not 
any  more:  presently  is  Branwen  married  to  this  Gwyllem 
and  grown  fat  and  old,  and  I  am  remarried  to  Dame 
Isabel  of  France,  and  am  King  of  England :  and  a  trifle 

"  l63 


(ttljttntiry 

later  all  four  of  us  will  be  dead.  Pending  this  deplorable 
consummation  a  wise  man  will  endeavor  to  amuse  him 
self." 

Next  day  he  despatehed  Caradawc  to  Owain  Glyndwyr 
to  bid  the  latter  send  the  promised  implements  to  Cacr 
Idion.  Richard,  returning  to  the  hut  the  same  evening, 
found  Alundync  there,  alone,  and  grovelling  at  the 
threshold.  Her  forehead  was  bloodied  when  she  raised 
it  and  through  tearless  sobs  told  of  the  day's  happenings. 
A  half-hour  since,  while  she  and  Branwen  were  intent 
upon  their  milking,  Gwyllem  had  ridden  up,  somewhat 
the  worse  for  liquor.  Branwen  had  called  him  sot, 
had  bidden  him  go  home.  ''That  will  I  do,"  said  Gwyl 
lem  and  suddenly  caught  up  the  girl.  Alundyne  sprang 
for  him,  and  with  clenched  list  Gwyllem  struck  her 
twice  full  in  the  face,  and  laughing,  rode  away  with 
Branwen. 

Richard  made  no  observation.  In  silence  he  fetched 
his  horse,  and  did  not  pause  to  saddle  it.  Quickly  he 
rode  to  Gwyllem's  house,  and  broke  in  the  door.  Against 
the  farther  wall  stood  lithe  Branwen  fighting  silently  in 
a  hideous  conflict ;  her  breasts  and  shoulders  were  naked , 
where  Gwyllem  had  torn  away  her  garments.  He 
wheedled,  laughed,  swore,  and  hiccoughed,  turn  by  turn, 
but  she  was  silent. 

"On  guard!"  Richard  barked.  Gwyllem  wheeled. 
His  head  twisted  toward  his  left  shoulder,  and  one  corner 
of  his  mouth  convulsively  snapped  upward,  so  that  his 
teeth  were  bared.  There  was  a  knife  at  Richard's  girdle, 
which  he  now  unsheathed  and  flung  away.  He  stepped 
eagerly  toward  the  snarling  Welshman,  and  with  either 
hand  seized  the  thick  and  hairy  throat.  What  followed 
was  brutal. 

For  many  minutes  Branwen  stood  with  averted  face, 

1 64 


tlf? 

shuddering.  She  very  dimly  heard  the  sound  of  Gwyllem's 
impotent  great  fists  as  they  beat  against  the  countenance 
and  body  of  Richard,  and  the  thin  splitting  vicious  noise 
of  torn  cloth  as  Gwyllem  clutched  at  Richard's  tunic 
and  tore  it  many  times.  Richard  uttered  no  articulate 
word,  and  Gwyllem  could  not.  There  was  entire  silence 
for  a  heart-beat,  and  then  the  fall  of  something  ponderous 
and  limp. 

"Come!"  Richard  said.  Through  the  hut's  twilight, 
glorious  in  her  eyes  as  Michael  fresh  from  that  primal 
battle,  Richard  came  to  her,  his  face  all  blood,  and  lifted 
her  in  his  arms  lest  Branwen's  skirt  be  soiled  by  the 
demolished  thing  which  sprawled  across  their  path. 
She  never  spoke.  She  could  not.  In  his  arms  she 
rode  presently,  passive,  and  incuriously  content.  The 
horse  trod  with  deliberation.  In  the  east  the  young 
moon  was  taking  heart  as  the  darkness  thickened  about 
them,  and  innumerable  stars  awoke. 

Richard  was  horribly  afraid.  He  it  had  been,  in 
sober  verity  it  had  been  Richard  of  Bordeaux,  that  some 
monstrous  force  had  seized,  and  had  lifted,  and  had 
curtly  utilized  as  its  handiest  implement.  He  had  been, 
and  in  the  moment  had  know^n  himself  to  be,  the  thrown 
spear  as  yet  in  air,  about  to  kill  and  quite  powerless  to 
refrain  therefrom.  It  was  a  full  three  minutes  before 
he  got  the  better  of  his  bewilderment  and  laughed,  very 
softly,  lest  he  disturb  this  Branwen,  who  was  so  near 
his  heart.  .  .  . 

Next  day  she  came  to  him  at  noon,  bearing  as  always 
the  little  basket.  It  contained  to-day  a  napkin,  some 
garlic,  a  ham,  and  a  small  soft  cheese;  some  shalots, 
salt,  nuts,  wild  apples,  lettuce,  onions,  and  mushrooms. 
"Behold  a  feast!"  said  Richard.  He  noted  then  that 
she  carried  also  a  blue  pitcher  filled  with  thin  wine 

165 


QUjtbalrtj 

and  two  cups  of  oak-bark.  She  thanked  him  for  last 
night's  performance,  and  drank  a  mouthful  of  wine  to  his 
health. 

"Decidedly,  I  shall  be  sorry  to  have  done  with  shep 
herding/'  said  Richard  as  he  ate. 

Branwen  answered,  "  I  too  shall  be  sorry,  lord,  when  the 
masquerade  is  ended."  And  it  seemed  to  Richard  that 
she  sighed,  and  he  was  the  happier. 

But  he  only  shrugged.  "I  am  the  wisest  person  un 
hanged,  since  I  comprehend  my  own  folly.  And  so,  I 
think,  was  once  the  minstrel  of  old  time  that  sang :  '  Over 
wild  lands  and  tumbling  seas  flits  Love,  at  will,  and 
maddens  the  heart  and  beguiles  the  senses  of  all  whom 
he  attacks,  whether  his  quarry  be  some  monster  of  the 
ocean  or  some  wild  denizen  of  the  forest,  or  man ;  for  thine, 
()  Love,  thine  alone  is  the  power  to  make  playthings 
of  us  all." 

"  Your  bard  was  wise,  no  doubt,  yet  it  was  not  in  similar 
terms  that  Gwyllem  sang  of  this  passion.  Lord,"  she  de 
manded  shyly,  "  how  would  you  sing  of  love?" 

Richard  was  replete  and  quite  contented  with  the 
world.  He  took  up  the  lute,  in  full  consciousness  that 
his  compliance  was  in  large  part  cenatory.  "  In  courtesy, 
thus — 

Sang  Richard: 

"  The  gods  in  honor  of  fair  Branwen' 's  worth 
Bore  gifts  to  her — and   Jove,  Olympus    lord, 
Co-rule  of  Earth  and  Heaven  did  accord, 
And  Venus  gave  her  slender  body's  girth, 
And  Mercury  the  lyre  he  framed  at  birth, 
And  Mars  his  jewelled  and  resistless  sword, 
And  wrinkled  Plutus  all  the  secret  hoard 
And  immemorial  treasure  of  mid-earth, — 
166 


nf   tlj?    ^ra 

"And  ivhile  the  puzzled  gods  were  pondering 
Which  of  these  goodly  gifts  the  goodliest  was, 

Dan  Cupid  came  among  them  carolling 
And  proffered  unto  her  a  looking-glass, 

Wherein  she  gazed  and  saw  the  goodliest  thing 

That  Earth  had  borne,  and  Heaven  might  not  surpass." 

"Three  sounds  are  rarely  heard,"  said  Branwen; 
"and  these  are  the  song  of  the  birds  of  Rhiannon,  an 
invitation  to  feast  with  a  miser,  and  a  speech  of  wisdom 
from  the  mouth  of  a  Saxon.  The  song  you  have  made 
of  courtesy  is  tinsel.  Sing  now  in  verity." 

Richard"  laughed,  though  he  was  sensibly  nettled  and 
perhaps  a  shade  abashed;  and  presently  he  sang  again. 

Sang  Richard: 

"Catullus  might  have  made  of  words  that  seek 
With  rippling  sound,  in  soft  recurrent  ways, 
The  perfect  song,  or  in  the  old  dead  days 

Theocritus  have  hymned  you  in  glad  Greek; 

But  I  am  not  as  they — and  dare  not  speak 
Of  you  unworthily,  and  dare  not  praise 
Perfection  with  imperfect  roundelays, 

And  desecrate  the  prize  I  dare  to  seek. 

"I  do  not  woo  you,  then,  by  fashioning 

Vext  similes  of  you  and  Gueneverc, 
And  durst  not  come  with  agile  lips  that  bring 

The  sugared  periods  of  a  sonneteer, 
And  bring  no  more — but  just  with  lips  that  cling 

To  yours,  and  murmur  against  them-,  '  /  love  you,  dear!' ' 

For  Richard  had  resolved  that  Branwen  should  believe 
him.  Tinsel,  indeed!  then  here  was  yet  more  tinsel 

167 


which  she  must  and  should  receive  as  gold.  He  was 
very  angry,  because  his  vanity  was  hurt,  and  the  pin 
prick  spurred  him  to  a  counterfeit  so  specious  that  con 
sciously  he  gloried  in  it.  He  was  superb,  and  she  believed 
him  now;  there  was  no  questioning  the  fact,  he  saw  it 
plainly,  and  with  exultant  cruelty;  and  curt  as  lightning 
came  the  knowledge  that  she  believed  the  absolute 
truth. 

Richard  had  taken  just  two  strides,  and  toward  this 
fair  girl.  Branwen  stayed  motionless,  her  lips  a  little 
parted.  The  affairs  of  earth  and  heaven  were  motionless 
throughout  the  moment,  attendant,  it  seemed  to  him; 
and  his  whole  life  was  like  a  wave,  to  him,  that  trembled 
now  at  full  height,  and  he  was  aware  of  a  new  world  all 
made  of  beauty  and  of  pity.  Then  the  lute  snapped 
between  his  fingers,  and  Richard  shuddered,  and  his 
countenance  was  the  face  of  a  man  only. 

"There  is  a  task,"  he  said,  hoarsely — "  it  is  God's  work, 
I  think.  But  I  do  not  know —  I  only  know  that  you  are 
very  beautiful,  Branwen,"  he  said,  and  in  the  name  he 
found  a  new  and  piercing  loveliness. 

More  lately  he  said:  "Go!  For  I  have  loved  so  many 
women,  and,  God  help  me!  I  know  that  I  have  but  to 
wheedle  you  and  you,  too,  will  yield!  Yonder  is  God's 
work  to  be  done,  and  within  me  rages  a  commonwealth  of 
devils.  Child!  child!"  he  cried  in  agony,  "I  am,  and 
ever  was,  a  coward,  too  timid  to  face  life  without  reserve, 
and  always  I  laughed  because  I  was  afraid  to  concede 
that  anything  is  serious!" 

For  a  long  while  Richard  lay  at  his  ease  in  the  length 
ening  shadows  of  the  afternoon. 

"I  love  her.  She  thinks  me  an  elderly  imbecile  with 
a  flat  and  reedy  singing-voice,  and  she  is  perfectly  right. 
She  has  never  even  entertained  the  notion  of  loving  me. 

1 68 


That  is  well,  for  to-morrow,  or,  it  may  be,  the  day  after, 
we  must  part  forever.  I  would  not  have  the  parting 
make  her  sorrowful— or  not,  at  least,  too  unalterably 
sorrowful.  It  is  very  well  that  Branwen  does  not  love 
me. 

"  How  should  she?  I  am  almost  twice  her  age,  an  old 
fellow  now,  battered  and  selfish  and  too  indolent  to  love 
her — say,  as  Gwyllem  did.  I  did  well  to  kill  that  Gwyllem. 
I  am  profoundly  glad  I  killed  him,  and  I  thoroughly 
enjoyed  doing  it;  but,  after  all,  the  man  loved  her  in  his 
fashion,  and  to  the  uttermost  reach  of  his  gross  nature. 
I  love  her  in  a  rather  more  decorous  and  acceptable 
fashion,  it  is  true,  but  only  a  half  of  me  loves  her;  and 
the  other  half  of  me  remembers  that  I  am  aging,  that 
Caradawc's  hut  is  leaky,  that,  in  fine,  bodily  comfort  is 
the  single  luxury  of  which  one  never  tires.  I  am  a  very 
contemptible  creature,  the  handsome  scabbard  of  a  man, 
precisely  as  Owain  said."  This  settled,  Richard  whistled 
to  his  dog. 

The  sun  had  set,  but  it  was  not  more  than  dusk.  There 
were  no  shadows  anywhere  as  Richard  and  his  sheep 
went  homeward,  but  on  every  side  the  colors  of  the  world 
were  more  sombre.  Twice  his  flock  roused  a  covey  of 
partridges  which  had  settled  for  the  night.  The  screech- 
owl  had  come  out  of  his  hole,  and  bats  were  already 
blundering  about,  and  the  air  was  more  cool.  There 
was  as  yet  but  one  star  in  the  green  and  cloudless  heaven, 
and  this  was  very  large,  like  a  beacon,  and  it  appeared 
to  him  symbolical  that  he  trudged  away  from  it. 

Next  day  the  Welshmen  came,  and  now  the  trap  was 
ready  for  Henry  of  Lancaster. 

It  befell  just  two  days  later,  about  noon,  that  while 
Richard  idly  talked  with  Branwen  a  party  of  soldiers, 
some  fifteen  in  number,  rode  down  the  river's  bank  from 

169 


the  ford  above.     Their  leader  paused,  then  gave  an  order. 
The  men  drew  rein.     He  cantered  forward. 

"God  give  you  joy,  fair  sir,"  said  Richard,  when  the 
cavalier  was  at  his  elbow. 

The  new-comer  raised  his  visor.  "  God  give  you  eternal 
joy,  my  fair  cousin,"  he  said,  "and  very  soon.  Now  send 
away  this  woman  before  that  happens  which  must  happen." 

"  You  design  murder?"  Richard  said. 

"  I  design  my  own  preservation,"  King  Henry  answered, 
"for  while  you  live  my  rule  is  insecure." 

"I  am  sorry,"  Richard  said,  "because  in  part  my 
blood  is  yours." 

Twice  he  sounded  his  horn,  and  everywhere  from 
rustling  undenvoods  arose  the  half-naked  Welshmen. 
"Your  men  are  one  to  ten.  You  are  impotent.  Now, 
now  we  balance  our  accounts!"  cried  Richard.  "These 
persons  here  will  first  deal  with  your  followers.  Then 
will  they  conduct  you  to  Glyndwyr,  who  has  long  desired 
to  deal  with  you  himself,  in  privacy,  since  that  Whit- 
Monday  when  you  stabbed  his  son." 

The  King  began:  "In  mercy,  sire — !"  and  Richard 
laughed  a  little. 

"That  virtue  is  not  overabundant  among  us  Plantag- 
enets,  as  both  we  know.  Nay,  Fate  and  Time  are 
merry  jesters.  See,  now,  their  latest  mockery!  You 
the  King  of  England  ride  to  Sycharth  to  your  death, 
and  I  the  tender  of  sheep  depart  into  London,  without 
any  hindrance,  to  reign  henceforward  over  all  these 
islands.  To-morrow  you  are  worm's-meat;  and  to 
morrow,  as  aforetime,  I  am  King  of  England." 

Then  Branwen  gave  one  sharp,  brief  cry,  and  Richard 
forgot  all  things  saving  this  girl,  and  strode  to  her.  He 
had  caught  up  either  of  her  hard,  lithe  hands;  against 
his  lips  he  strained  them  close  and  very  close. 

170 


"'YOU      DESIGN      MURDER?'      RICHARD      ASKED' 


§>t0rjj    nf    tltr    ^rabharfc 

"  Branwen — !"  he  said.     His  eyes  devoured  her. 

"Yes,  King,"  she  answered.  "O  King  of  England! 
O  fool  that  I  had  been  to  think  you  less! " 

In  a  while  Richard  said:  "Now  I  choose  between  a 
peasant  wench  and  England.  Now  I  choose,  and,  ah, 
how  gladly!  O  Branwen,  help  me  to  be  more  than  King 
of  England!" 

Low  and  very  low  he  spoke,  and  long  and  very  long  he 
gazed  at  her  and  neither  seemed  to  breathe.  Of  what 
she  thought  I  cannot  tell  you ;  but  in  Richard  there  was 
no  power  of  thought,  only  a  great  wonderment.  Why, 
between  this  woman  and  aught  else  there  was  no  choice 
for  him,  he  knew  upon  a  sudden,  and  could  never  be!  Pie 
was  very  glad.  He  loved  the  tiniest  content  of  the  world. 

Meanwhile,  as  from  an  immense  distance,  came  to  this 
Richard  the  dogged  voice  of  Henry  of  Lancaster.  "  It 
is  of  common  report  in  these  islands  that  I  have  a  better 
right  to  the  throne  than  you.  As  much  was  told  our 
grandfather,  King  Edward  of  happy  memory,  when  he 
educated  you  and  had  you  acknowledged  heir  to  the  crown, 
but  his  love  was  so  strong  for  his  son  the  Prince  of  Wales 
that  nothing  could  alter  his  purpose.  And  indeed  if  you 
had  followed  even  the  example  of  the  Black  Prince  you 
might  still  have  been  our  King;  but  you  have  ahvays 
acted  so  contrarily  to  his  admirable  precedents  as  to 
occasion  the  rumor  to  be  generally  believed  throughout 
England  that  you  were  not,  after  all,  his  son- 
Richard  had  turned  impatiently.  "  For  the  love  of 
Heaven,  truncate  your  abominable  periods.  Be  off  with 
you.  Yonder  across  that  river  is  the  throne  of  England, 
which  you  appear,  through  some  hallucination,  to  con 
sider  a  desirable  possession.  Take  it,  then;  for,  praise 
God!  the  sword  has  found  its  sheath." 

The  King  answered:  "I  do  not  ask  you  to  reconsider 

171 


Olljtttalrg 

your  dismissal,  assuredly—  Richard,"  he  cried,  a  little 
shaken,  "  I  perceive  that  until  your  death  you  will  win 
contempt  and  love  from  every  person." 

"Ay,  for  many  years  I  have  been  the  playmate  of  the 
world,"  said  Richard;  "but  to-day  I  wash  my  hands, 
and  set  about  another  and  more  laudable  business.  I 
had  dreamed  certain  dreams,  indeed — but  what  had  I 
to  do  with  all  this  strife  between  the  devil  and  the  tiger  ? 
Nay,  Glyndwyr  will  set  up  Mortimer  against  you  now, 
and  you  two  must  fight  it  out.  I  am  no  more  his  tool, 
and  no  more  your  enemy,  my  cousin—  Henry,"  he  said 
with  quickening  voice,  "there  was  a  time  when  we  were 
boys  and  played  together,  and  there  was  no  hatred 
between  us,  and  I  regret  that  time!" 

"As  God  lives,  I  too  regret  that  time!"  the  bluff  King 
said.  He  stared  at  Richard  for  a  while  wherein  each 
understood.  "  Dear  fool,"  he  said,  "  there  is  no  man  in  all 
the  world  but  hates  me  saving  only  you. ' '  Then  the  proud 
King  clapped  spurs  to  his  proud  horse  and  rode  away. 

More  lately  Richard  dismissed  his  wondering  marauders. 
Now  were  only  he  and  Branwen  left,  alone  and  yet  a  little 
troubled,  since  either  was  afraid  of  that  oncoming  moment 
when  their  eyes  must  meet. 

So  Richard  laughed.  "Praise  God!"  he  wildly  cried, 
"I  am  the  greatest  fool  unhanged!" 

She  answered:  "I  am  the  happier.  I  am  the  happiest 
of  God's  creatures,"  Branwen  said. 

And  Richard  meditated.  "Faith  of  a  gentleman!"  he 
declared  ;  "  but  you  are  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  of  this  fact 
I  happen  to  be  quite  certain."  Their  lips  met  then  and 
afterward  their  eyes;  and  either  was  too  glad  for  laughter. 


THE    END    OF    THE    EIGHTH    NOVEL 


IX 
of  tlf? 


"  J'ay  en  mon  cueur  joyeusement 
Escript,  afin  que  ne  Voublie, 
Ce  refrain  qu'ayme  chierement, 
C'estes  vous  de  qui  mis  amye" 


THE  NINTH  NOVEL. — JEHANE  OF  NAVARRE,  AFTER  A  SHREWD 
WITHSTANDING  OF  ALL  OTHER  ASSAULTS,  IS  IN  A  LONG 
DUEL  WHEREIN  TIME  AND  COMMON-SENSE  ARE  FLOUTED, 
AND  TWO  KINGDOMS  SHAKEN,  ALIKE  DETHRONED  AND 
RECOMPENSED  BY  AN  ENDURING  LUNACY. 


of  tit? 


'N  the  year  of  grace  1386,  upon  the  feast 
of  Saint  Bartholomew  (thus  Nicolas 
begins),  came  to  the  Spanish  coast 
Messire  Peyre  cle  Lesnerac,  in  a  war-ship 
sumptuously  furnished  and  manned  by 
many  persons  of  dignity  and  wealth,  in 
order~they  might  suitably  escort  the  Princess  Jehane  into 
Brittany,  where  she  was  to  marry  the  Duke  of  that 
province.  There  were  now  rejoicings  throughout  Navarre, 
in  which  the  Princess  took  but  a  nominal  part  and  young 
Antoine  Riczi  none  at  all. 

This  Antoine  Riczi  came  to  Jehane  that  August  twilight 
in  the  hedged  garden.  "King's  daughter!"  he  sadly 
greeted  her.  "  Duchess  of  Brittany  !  Countess  of  Rouge  - 
mont!  Lady  of  Nantes  and  of  Guerrand!  of  Rais  and  of 
Toufon  and  Guerche!" 

"Nay,"  she  answered,  "Jehane,  whose  only  title  is  the 
Constant  Lover."  And  in  the  green  twilight,  lit  as  yet 
by  one  low-hanging  star  alone,  their  lips  met,  as  aforetime. 
Presently  the  girl  spoke.  Her  soft  mouth  was  lax  and 
tremulous,  and  her  gray  eyes  were  more  brilliant  than 
the  star  yonder.  The  boy's  arms  were  about  her,  so 
that  neither  could  be  quite  unhappy;  and  besides,  a 
sorrow  too  noble  for  any  bitterness  had  mastered  them, 
and  a  vast  desire  whose  aim  they  could  not  word,  or  even 
apprehend  save  cloudily. 

175 


(Cljtbalrg 

"Friend,"  said  Jehane,  "I  have  no  choice.  I  must 
wed  with  this  de  Montfort.  I  think  I  shall  die  presently. 
I  have  prayed  God  that  I  may  die  before  they  bring  me 
to  the  dotard's  bed." 

Young  Riczi  held  her  now  in  an  embrace  more  brutal. 
"Mine!  mine!"  he  snarled  toward  the  obscuring  heavens. 

"Yet  it  may  be  I  must  live.  Friend,  the  man  is  very 
old.  Is  it  wicked  to  think  of  that?  For  I  cannot  but 
think  of  his  great  age." 

Then  Riczi  answered:  "My  desires — may  God  forgive 
me! — have  clutched  like  starving  persons  at  that  sorry 
sustenance.  Friend!  ah,  fair,  sweet  friend!  the  man  is 
human  and  must  die,  but  love,  we  read,  is  immortal. 
I  am  fain  to  die,  Jehane.  But,  oh,  Jehane!  dare  you  to 
bid  me  live?" 

"Friend,  as  you  love  me,  I  entreat  you  live.  Friend, 
I  crave  of  the  Eternal  Father  that  if  I  falter  in  my  love 
for  you  I  may  be  denied  even  the  bleak  night  of  ease 
which  Judas  knows."  The  girl  did  not  weep;  dry-eyed 
she  winged  a  perfectly  sincere  prayer  toward  incor 
ruptible  saints.  He  was  to  remember  the  fact,  and 
through  long  years. 

For  even  as  Riczi  left  her,  yonder  behind  the  yew-hedge  a 
shrill  joculatrix  sang,  in  rehearsal  for  Jehane's  bridal  feast. 

Sang  the  joculatrix: 

"  When  the  morning  broke  before  us 

Came  the  wayward  Three  astraying, 
Chattering  a  trivial  chorus — 

Hoidens  that  at  handball  playing 
(When  they  wearied  of  their  playing), 
Cast  the  Ball  where  now  it  whirls 

Through  the  coil  of  clouds  nnstaying, 
For  the  Fates  are  merry  girls!" 
176 


©It?    IHnry    uf   tlje    Nauarr?0? 

And  upon  the  next  clay  de  Lcsncrac  bore  young  Jehane 
from  Pampeluna  and  presently  to  Saille,  where  old 
Jehan  the  Brave  took  her  to  wife.  She  lived  as  a  queen, 
but  she  was  a  woman  of  infrequent  laughter. 

She  had  Duke  Jehan's  adoration,  and  his  barons' 
obcisaney,  and  his  villagers  applauded  her  passage  with 
stentorian  shouts.  She  passed  interminable  days  amid 
bright  curious  arrasses  and  trod  listlessly  over  pavements 
strewn  with  flowers.  Fiery-hearted  jewels  she  had,  and 
shimmering  purple  cloths,  and  much  furniture  adroitly 
car  veil,  and  many  tapestries  of  Samarcand  and  Baldach 
upon  which  were  embroidered,  by  brown  fingers  time 
turned  long  ago  to  Asian  dust,  innumerable  asps  and  deer 
and  phoenixes  and  dragons  and  all  the  motley  inhabitants 
of  air  and  of  the  thicket:  but  her  memories,  too,  she  had, 
and  for  a  dreary  while  she  got  no  comfort  because  of 
them.  Then  ambition  quickened. 

Young  Antoine  Riczi  likewise  nursed  his  wound  as  best 
he  might ;  but  about  the  end  of  the  second  year  his  uncle, 
the  Vicomte  de  Montbrison — a  gaunt  man,  with  pre 
occupied  and  troubled  eyes — had  summoned  Antoine 
into  Lyonnois  and,  after  appropriate  salutation,  had 
informed  the  lad  that,  as  the  Vicomte's  heir,  he  was  to 
marry  the  Demoiselle  Gerberge  de  Nerac  upon  the  ensuing 
Michaelmas. 

"  That  I  may  not  do,"  said  Riczi ;  and  since  a  chronicler 
that  would  tempt  fortune  should  never  stretch  the  fabric 
of  his  wares  too  thin,  unlike  Sir  Hengist,  I  merely  tell  you 
these  two  dwelt  together  at  Montbrison  for  a  decade, 
and  always  the  Vicomte  swore  at  his  nephew  and  predicted 
this  or  that  disastrous  destination  so  often  as  Antoine 
declined  to  marry  the  latest  of  his  uncle's  candidates — 
in  whom  the  Vicomte  wras  of  an  astonishing  fertility. 

Tn  the  year  of  grace  1401  came  the  belated  news  that 

177 


Duke  Jehan  had  closed  his  final  day.  "  You  will  be  leav 
ing  me!"  the  Vicomte  growled;  "now,  in  my  decrep 
itude,  you  will  be  leaving  me!  It  is  abominable,  and 
I  shall  in  all  likelihood  disinherit  you  this  very  night." 

"Yet  it  is  necessary,"  Riczi  answered;  and,  filled  with 
no  unhallowed  joy,  rode  not  long  afterward  for  Vannes, 
in  Brittany,  where  the  Duchess-Regent  held  her  court. 
Dame  Jehane  had  within  that  fortnight  put  aside  her 
mourning,  and  sat  beneath  a  green  canopy,  gold-fringed 
and  powdered  with  many  golden  stars,  upon  the  night 
when  he  first  came  to  her,  and  the  rising  saps  of  spring 
were  exercising  their  august  and  formidable  influence. 
She  sat  alone,  by  prearrangement,  to  one  end  of  the 
high-ceiled  and  radiant  apartment;  midway  in  the  hall 
her  lords  and  divers  ladies  were  gathered  about  a  salta- 
tricc  and  a  jongleur,  who  diverted  them  to  the  mincing 
accompaniment  of  a  lute;  but  Jehane  sat  apart  from 
these,  frail,  and  splendid  with  many  jewels,  and  a  little 
sad,  and,  as  ever  (he  thought),  was  hers  a  beauty  clarified 
of  its  mere  substance — the  beauty,  say,  of  a  moonbeam 
which  penetrates  full-grown  leaves. 

And  Antoine  Riczi  found  no  power  of  speech  within 
him  at  the  first.  Silent  he  stood  before  her  for  an  obvious 
interval,  still  as  an  elfigv,  while  meltingly  the  jongleur 
sang. 

"Jehane!"  said  Antoine  Riczi,  "have  you,  then, 
forgotten,  O  Jehane?" 

Nor  had  the  resplendent  woman  moved  at  all.  It  was 
as  though  she  were  some  tinted  and  lavishly  adorned 
statue  of  barbaric  heathenry,  and  he  her  postulant; 
and  her  large  eyes  appeared  to  judge  an  immeasurable 
path,  beyond  him.  Now  her  lips  had  fluttered  some 
what.  "The  Duchess  of  Brittany  am  I,"  she  said,  and 
in  the  phantom  of  a  voice.  "  The  Countess  of  Rougemont 

178 


am  I.  The  Lady  of  Nantes  and  of  Guerrand!  of  Rais  and 
of  Toufon  and  Guerche!  .  .  .  Jehane  is  dead." 

The  man  had  drawn  one  audible  breath.  "You  are 
Jehane,  whose  only  title  is  the  Constant  Lover!" 

"Friend,  the  world  smirches  us,"  she  said  half-plead- 
ingly.  "I  have  tasted  too  deep  of  wealth  and  power. 
Drunk  with  a  deadly  wine  am  I,  and  ever  I  thirst — I 
thirst — 

"Jehane,  do  you  remember  that  May  morning  in 
Pampeluna  when  first  I  kissed  you,  and  about  us  sang 
many  birds  ?  Then  as  now  you  wore  a  gown  of  green, 
Jehane." 

"Friend,  I  have  swayed  kingdoms  since." 

"Jehane,  do  you  remember  that  August  twilight  in 
Pampeluna  when  last  1  kissed  you?  Then  as  now  you 
wore  a  gown  of  green,  Jehane." 

"But  no  such  chain  as  this  about  my  neck,"  the 
woman  answered,  and  lifted  a  huge  golden  collar  garnished 
with  emeralds  and  sapphires  and  with  many  pearls. 
"Friend,  the  chain  is  heavy,  yet  I  lack  the  will  to  cast 
it  off.  I  lack  the  will,  Antoine."  And  with  a  sudden 
roar  of  mirth  her  courtiers  applauded  the  evolutions  of 
the  saltatrice. 

"King's  daughter!"  said  Riczi  then;  "O  perilous  mer 
chandise!  a  god  came  to  me  and  a  sword  had  pierced 
his  breast.  He  touched  the  gold  hilt  of  it  and  said, 
'Take  back  your  weapon.'  I  answered,  'I  do  not  know 
you.'  'I  am  Youth,'  he  said;  'take  back  your  weap 
on." 

"  It  is  true,"  she  responded,  "  it  is  lamentably  true  that 
after  to-night  we  are  as  different  persons,  you  and  I." 

He  said;  "Jehane,  do  you  not  love  me  any  longer? 
Remember  old  years  and  do  not  break  your  oath  with 
me,  Jehane,  since  God  abhors  nothing  so  much  as  perfidy. 

13  179 


Gtljttictlrg 

For  your  own  sake,  Jchanc — ah,  no,  not  for  your  sake 
nor  for  mine,  but  for  the  sake  of  that  blithe  Jehane, 
whom,  so  you  tell  me,  time  has  slain!" 

Once  or  twice  she  blinked,  as  dazzled  by  a  light  of 
intolerable  splendor,  but  otherwise  sat  rigid.  "  You 
have  dared,  messire,  to  confront  me  with  the  golden- 
hearted,  clean-eyed  Navarrese  that  once  was  I!  and  I 
requite."  The  austere  woman  rose.  "Messire,  you 
swore  to  me,  long  since,  an  eternal  service.  I  claim  my 
bond.  Yonder  prim  man — gray-bearded,  the  man  in 
black  and  silver — is  the  Earl  of  Worcester,  the  King  of 
England's  ambassador,  in  common  with  whom  the  wealthy 
dowager  of  Brittany  has  signed  a  certain  contract.  Go 
you,  then,  with  Worcester  into  England,  as  my  proxy, 
and  in  that  island,  as  my  proxy,  wed  the  King  of  England. 
Messire,  your  audience  is  done." 

Latterly  Riczi  said  this:  "Can  you  hurt  me  any  more, 
Jehane? — nay,  even  in  hell  they  cannot  hurt  me  now. 
Yet  I,  at  least,  keep  faith,  and  in  your  face  I  fling  faith 
like  a  glove — old-fashioned,  it  may  be,  but  clean — and 
I  will  go,  Jehane." 

Her  heart  raged.  "Poor,  glorious  fool!"  she  thought; 
"  had  you  but  the  wit  even  now  to  use  me  brutally,  even 
now  to  drag  me  from  this  dais — !"  Instead  he  went 
from  her  smilingly,  treading  through  the  hall  with  many 
affable  salutations,  while  always  the  jongleur  sang. 

Sang  the  jongleur: 

"  There  is  a  Land  the  rabble  rout 

Knows  not,  whose  gates  arc  barred 
By  Titan  twins,  named  Fear  and  Doubt, 

That  mercifully  guard 
The  land  we  seek — the  land  so  fair! — 
And  all  the  fields  thereof, 
1 80 


' '  Where  daffodils  grow  everywhere 

About  the  Fields  of  Love — 
Knowing  that  in  the  Middle-Land 

A  tiny  pool  there  lies 
And  serpents  from  the  slimy  strand 

Lift  glittering  cold  eyes. 

"Now,  the  parable  all  may  understand, 
And  surely  you  know  the  name  o'  the  land! 

Ah,  never  a  guide  or  ever  a  chart 

May  safely  lead  you  about  this  land  — 

The  Land  of  the  Human  Heart!" 

And  the  following  morning,  being  duly  empowered, 
Antoine  Riczi  sailed  for  England  in  company  with  the 
Earl  of  Worcester,  and  upon  Saint  Richard's  day  the 
next  ensuing  was,  at  Eltham,  as  proxy  of  Jehane,  married 
in  his  own  person  to  the  bloat  King  of  England.  First 
had  Sire  Henry  placed  the  ring  on  Riczi's  finger,  and  then 
spoke  Antoine  Riczi,  very  loud  and  clear: 

"I,  Antoine  Riczi — in  the  name  of  my  worshipful  lady, 
Dame  Jehane,  the  daughter  of  Messire  Charles  until  lately 
King  of  Navarre,  the  Duchess  of  Brittany  and  the 
Countess  of  Rougemont — do  take  you,  Sire  Henry  of 
Lancaster,  King  of  England  and  in  title  of  France,  and 
Lord  of  Ireland,  to  be  my  husband  ;  and  thereto  I,  Antoine 
Riczi,  in  the  spirit  of  my  said  lady"-— he  paused  here  to 
regard  the  gross  hulk  of  masculinity  before  him,  and  then 
smiled  very  sadly— '"in  precisely  the  spirit  of  my  said 
lady,  I  plight  you  my  troth." 

Afterward  the  King  made  him  presents  of  some  rich 
garments  of  scarlet  trimmed  with  costly  furs,  and  of  four 
silk  belts  studded  with  silver  and  gold,  and  with  valuable 
clasps,  whereof  the  recipient  might  well  be  proud,  and 

181 


(ttlfttialrjj 

Riczi  returned  to  Lyonnois.  "  Depardieux ! "  his  uncle 
said;  "so  you  return  alone!" 

"As  Prince  Troilus  did,"  said  Riczi—  "to  boast  to  you 
of  liberal  entertainment  in  the  tent  of  Diomede." 

"You  are  certainly  an  inveterate  fool,"  the  Vicomte 
considered  after  a  prolonged  appraisal  of  his  face,  "since 
there  is  always  a  deal  of  other  pink-and-white  flesh  as 
yet  unmortgaged—  Boy  with  my  brother's  eyes!"  the 
Vicomte  said,  and  in  another  voice;  "  I  would  that  I  were 
God  to  punish  as  is  fitting!  Nay,  come  home,  my  lad!— 
come  home!" 

So  these  two  abode  together  at  Montbrison  for  a  long 
time,  and  in  the  purlieus  of  that  place  hunted  and  hawked, 
and  made  sonnets  once  in  a  while,  and  read  aloud  from 
old  romances  some  five  clays  out  of  the  seven.  The 
verses  of  Riczi  were  in  the  year  of  grace  1410  made  public, 
and  not  without  acclamation ;  and  thereafter  the  stripling 
Comte  de  Charolais,  future  heir  to  all  Burgundy  and  a 
zealous  patron  of  rhyme,  was  much  at  Montbrison,  and 
there  conceived  for  Antoine  Riczi  such  admiration  as 
was  possible  to  a  very  young  man  only. 

In  the  year  of  grace  1412  the  Vicomte,  being  then 
bedridden,  died  without  any  disease  and  of  no  malady 
save  the  inherencies  of  his  age.  "  I  entreat  of  you,  my 
nephew,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  always  you  use  as  touch 
stone  the  brave  deed  you  did  at  Eltham.  It  is  necessary 
a  man  serve  his  lady  according  to  her  commandments, 
but  you  have  performed  the  most  absurd  and  the  cruelest 
task  which  any  woman  ever  imposed  upon  her  servitor. 
I  laugh  at  you,  and  I  envy  you."  Thus  he  died,  about 
Martinmas. 

Now  was  Antoine  Riczi  a  powerful  baron,  and  got  no 
comfort  of  his  lordship,  since  in  his  meditations  the  King 
of  Darkness,  that  old  incendiary,  had  added  a  daily  fuel 

182 


rg    of   tl}e    Nanarr£0e 

until  the  ancient  sorrow  quickened  into  vaulting  flames 
of  wrath  and  of  disgust. 

"What  now  avail  my  riches?"  said  the  Vicomte. 
"Nay,  how  much  wealthier  was  I  when  I  was  loved,  and 
was  myself  an  eager  lover!  I  relish  no  other  pleasures 
than  those  of  love.  Love's  sot  am  I,  drunk  with  a  deadly 
wine,  poor  fool,  and  ever  I  thirst.  As  vapor  are  all  my 
chattels  and  my  acres,  and  the  more  my  dominion  and 
my  power  increase,  the  more  rancorously  does  my  heart 
sustain  its  misery,  being  robbed  of  that  fair  merchandise 
which  is  the  King  of  England's.  To  hate  her  is  scant 
comfort  and  to  despise  her  none  at  all,  since  it  follows 
that  I  who  am  unable  to  forget  the  wanton  am  even  more 
to  be  despised  than  she.  I  will  go  into  England  and 
execute  what  mischief  I  may  against  her." 

The  new  Vicomte  de  Montbrison  set  forth  for  Paris, 
first  to  do  homage  for  his  fief,  and  secondly  to  be  accredited 
for  some  plausible  mission  into  England.  But  in  Paris 
he  got  disquieting  news.  Jehane's  husband  was  dead, 
and  her  stepson  Henry,  the  fifth  monarch  of  that  name 
to  reign  in  Britain,  had  invaded  France  to  support 
preposterous  claims  which  the  man  advanced  to  the  very 
crown  of  that  latter  kingdom ;  and  as  the  earth  is  altered 
by  the  advent  of  winter  was  the  appearance  of  France 
transformed  by  his  coming,  and  everywhere  the  nobles 
were  stirred  up  to  arms,  the  castles  were  closed,  the 
huddled  cities  were  fortified,  and  on  either  hand  arose 
intrenchments. 

Thus  through  this  sudden  turn  was  the  new  Vicomte, 
the  dreamer  and  the  recluse,  caught  up  by  the  career  of 
events,  as  a  straw  is  by  a  torrent,  when  the  French  lords 
marched  with  their  vassals  to  Harfleur,  where  they  were 
soundly  drubbed  by  the  King  of  England;  as  afterward 
at  Agincourt. 

183 


(Etjiualrg 

But  in  the  year  of  grace  1417  there  was  a  breathing 
spaee  for  discredited  France,  and  presently  the  Vicomte 
de  Montbrison  was  sent  into  England,  as  ambassador. 
He  got  in  London  a  fruitless  audience  of  King  Henry, 
whose  demands  were  such  as  rendered  a  renewal  of  the 
war  inevitable;  and  afterward,  in  the  month  of  April, 
about  the  day  of  Palm  Sunday,  and  within  her  dower- 
palace  of  Havering-Bower,  an  interview  with  Queen 
Jehane. 

Nicolas  omits,  and  unaccountably,  to  mention  that  during 
the  French  wars  she  had  ruled  England  as  Regent,  and  with 
marvellous  capacity — although  this  fact,  as  you  will  see  more 
lately,  is  the  pivot  of  his  chronicle. 

A  solitary  page  ushered  the  Vicomte  whither  she  sat 
alone,  by  prearrangement,  in  a  chamber  with  painted 
walls,  profusely  lighted  by  the  sun,  and  making  pretence 
to  weave  a  tapestry.  When  the  page  had  gone  she  rose 
and  cast  aside  the  shuttle,  and  then  with  a  glad  and 
wordless  cry  stumbled  toward  the  Vicomte.  "Madame 
and  Queen — !"  he  coldly  said. 

A  frightened  woman,  half-distraught,  aging  now  but 
rather  handsome,  his  judgment  saw  in  her,  and  no  more; 
all  black  and  shimmering  gold  his  senses  found  her,  and 
supple  like  some  dangerous  and  lovely  serpent ;  and  with 
a  contained  hatred  he  had  discovered,  as  by  the  terse 
illumination  of  a  thunderbolt,  that  he  could  never  love 
any  woman  save  the  woman  whom  he  most  despised. 

She  said:  "I  had  forgotten.  I  had  remembered  only 
you,  Antoine,  and  Navarre,  and  the  clean-eyed  Navar- 
rese—  Now  for  a  little,  Jehane  paced  the  gleaming 
and  sun-drenched  apartment  as  a  bright  leopardess 
might  tread  her  cage.  Then  she  wheeled.  "Friend, 
I  think  that  God  Himself  has  deigned  to  avenge  you. 
All  misery  my  reign  has  been.  First  Hotspur,  then  prim 

184 


ry    nf   tlj? 

Worcester  harried  us.  Came  Glynclwyr  afterward  to 
prick  us  with  his  devil's  horns.  Followed  the  dreary 
years  that  linked  me  to  the  rotting  corpse  God's  leprosy 
devoured  while  the  poor  furtive  thing  yet  moved.  All 
misery,  Antoine!  And  now  I  live  beneath  a  sword." 

"You  have  earned  no  more,"  he  said.  "You  have 
earned  no  more,  O  Jehane!  whose  only  title  is  the  Constant 
Lover!"  He  spat  it  out. 

She  came  uncertainly  toward  him,  as  though  he  had 
been  some  not  implacable  knave  with  a  bludgeon.  "  For 
the  King  hates  me,"  she  plaintively  said,  "and  I  live 
beneath  a  sword.  Ever  the  big  fierce-eyed  man  has 
hated  me,  for  all  his  lip-courtesy.  And  now  he  lacks  the 
money  to  pay  his  troops,  and  I  am  the  wealthiest  person 
within  his  realm.  I  am  a  woman  and  alone  in  a  foreign 
land.  So  I  must  wait,  and  wait,  and  wait,  Antoine, 
till  he  devise  some  trumped-up  accusation.  Friend,  I 
live  as  did  Saint  Damoclus,  beneath  a  sword.  Antoine!" 
she  wailed— for  now-  was  the  pride  of  Queen  Jehane 
shattered  utterly — "within  the  island  am  I  a  prisoner 
for  all  that  my  chains  are  of  gold." 

"Yet  it  was  not  until  o'  late,"  he  observed,  "that  you 
disliked  the  metal  which  is  the  substance  of  all  crow<ns." 

And  now  the  woman  lifted  to  him  a  huge  golden  collar 
garnished  with  emeralds  and  sapphires  and  with  many 
pearls,  and  in  the  sunlight  the  gems  were  tawdry  things. 
"  Friend,  the  chain  is  heavy,  and  I  lack  the  power  to  cast 
it  off.  The  Navarrese  we  know  of  wore  no  such  perilous 
fetters  about  her  neck.  Ah,  you  should  have  mastered 
me  at  Vannes.  You  could  have  done  so,  and  very  easily. 
But  you  only  talked — oh,  Mary  pity  us !  you  only  talked  !— 
and  I  could  find  only  a  servant  where  I  had  sore  need  to 
find  a  master.  Then  pity  me." 

But  now  came  many  armed  soldiers  into  the  apartment. 

185 


With  spirit  Queen  Jehane  turned  to  meet  them,  and  you 
saw  that  she  was  of  royal  blood,  for  the  pride  of  ill-starred 
emperors  blazed  and  informed  her  body  as  light  occupies 
a  lantern.  "At  last  you  come  for  me,  messieurs?" 

"Whereas,"  their  leader  read  in  answrer  from  a  parch 
ment — "whereas  the  King's  stepmother,  Queen  Jehane, 
is  accused  by  certain  persons  of  an  act  of  witchcraft 
that  with  diabolical  and  subtile  methods  wrought  privily 
to  destroy  the  King,  the  said  Dame  Jehane  is  by  the  King 
committed  (all  her  attendants  being  removed),  to  the 
custody  of  Sir  John  Pelham,  who  will,  at  the  King's 
pleasure,  confine  her  within  Pevensey  Castle,  there  to  be 
kept  under  Sir  John's  control:  the  lands  and  other 
properties  of  the  said  Dame  Jehane  being  hereby  forfeit 
to  the  King,  whom  God  preserve!" 

"Harry  of  Monmouth!"  said  Jehane — "oh,  Harry  of 
Monmouth,  could  I  but  come  to  you,  very  quietly,  and 
with  a  knife—!"  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  the 
gold  about  her  person  glittered  in  the  sunlight.  "  Witch 
craft!  ohime,  one  never  disproves  that.  Friend,  now  are 
you  avenged  the  more  abundantly." 

"Young  Riczi  is  avenged,"  the  Vicomte  said;  "and 
I  came  hither  desiring  vengeance." 

She  wheeled,  a  lithe  flame  (he  thought)  of  splendid 
fury.  "And  in  the  gutter  Jehane  dares  say  what  Queen 
Jehane  upon  the  throne  might  never  say.  Had  I  reigned 
all  these  years  as  mistress  not  of  England  but  of  Europe — 
had  nations  wheedled  me  in  the  place  of  barons — young 
Riczi  had  been  avenged,  no  less.  Bah!  what  do  these 
so-little  persons  matter  ?  Take  now  your  petty  vengeance ! 
drink  deep  of  it!  and  know  that  always  within  my  heart 
the  Navarrese  has  lived  to  shame  me !  Know  that  to-day 
you  despise  Jehane,  the  purchased  woman!  and  that 
Jehane  loves  you!  and  that  the  love  of  proud  Jehane 

186 


"'TAKE      NOW     YOUR      PETTY      VENGEANCE! 


rg    nf   tlj?   Na 

creeps  like  a  beaten  cur  toward  your  feet,  and  in  the 
sight  of  common  men!  and  know  that  Riczi  is  avenged, 
—you  milliner!" 

"  Into  England  I  came  desiring  vengeance —  Apples  of 
Sodom!  O  bitter  fruit!"  the  Vicomte  thought;  "O  fit 
ting  harvest  of  a  fool's  assiduous  husbandry!" 

They  took  her  from  him:  and  that  afternoon,  after 
long  meditation,  the  Vicomte  de  Montbrison  entreated 
a  fresh  and  private  audience  of  King  Henry,  and  readily 
obtained  it.  "  Unhardy  is  unseely,"  the  Vicomte  said 
at  its  conclusion.  Then  the  tale  tells  that  the  Vicomte 
returned  to  France  and  within  this  realm  assembled  all 
such  lords  as  the  abuses  of  the  Queen-Regent  Isabeau 
had  more  notoriously  dissatified. 

The  Vicomte  had  upon  occasion  an  invaluable  power 
of  speech ;  and  now,  so  great  was  the  devotion  of  love's 
dupe,  so  heartily,  so  hastily,  did  he  design  to  remove  the 
discomforts  of  Queen  Jehane,  that  now  his  eloquence  was 
twin  to  Belial's. 

Then  presently  these  lords  had  sided  with  King  Henry, 
as  had  the  Vicomte  de  Montbrison,  in  open  field.  Latterly 
Jehan  Sans-Peur  was  slain  at  Montereau;  and  a  little 
later  the  new  Duke  of  Burgundy,  \vho  loved  the  Vicomte 
as  he  loved  no  other  man,  had  shifted  his  coat.  After 
ward  fell  the  poised  scale  of  circumstance,  and  with  an 
aweful  clangor ;  and  now  in  France  clean-hearted  persons 
spoke  of  the  Vicomte  de  Montbrison  as  they  would  of 
Ganelon  or  of  Iscariot,  and  in  every  market-place  was 
King  Henry  proclaimed  as  governor  of  the  realm. 

Meantime  was  Queen  Jehane  conveyed  to  prison  and 
lodged  therein  for  five  years'  space.  She  had  the  liberty 
of  a  tiny  garden,  high- walled,  and  of  two  scantily  furnished 
chambers.  The  brace  of  hard-featured  females  Pelham 
had  provided  for  the  Queen's  attendance  might  speak  to 


GHjtuairjj 

her  of  nothing  that  occurred  without  the  gates  of  Pevensey , 
and  she  saw  no  other  persons  save  her  confessor,  a  triple- 
chinned  Dominican;  and  in  fine,  had  they  already  lain 
Jehane  within  the  massive  and  gilded  coffin  of  a  queen 
the  outer  world  would  have  made  as  great  a  turbulence 
in  her  ears. 

But  in  the  year  of  grace  1422,  upon  the  feast  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  and  about  vespers — for  thus  it  wonder 
fully  fell  out — one  of  those  grim  attendants  brought  to 
her  the  first  man,  save  the  fat  confessor,  whom  the  Queen 
had  seen  within  five  years.  The  proud,  frail  woman 
looked  and  what  she  saw  was  the  common  inhabitant 
of  all  her  dreams. 

Said  Jehane:  "This  is  ill  done.  The  years  have 
avenged  you.  Be  contented  with  that  knowledge,  and, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  endeavor  to  moralize  over  the 
ruin  Heaven  has  made,  and  justly  made,  of  Queen 
Jehane,  as  I  perceive  you  mean  to  do."  She  leaned 
backward  in  the  chair,  very  coarsely  clad  in  brown,  but 
knowing  her  countenance  to  be  that  of  the  anemone 
which  naughtily  dances  above  wet  earth. 

"Friend,"  the  lean-faced  man  now  said,  "I  do  not 
come  with  such  intent,  as  my  mission  will  readily  attest, 
nor  to  any  ruin,  as  your  mirror  will  attest.  Nay,  madame, 
I  come  as  the  emissary  of  King  Henry,  now  dying  at 
Vincennes,  and  with  letters  to  the  lords  and  bishops  of 
his  council.  Dying,  the  man  restores  to  you  your  liberty 
and  your  dower-lands,  your  bed  and  all  your  movables, 
and  six  gowns  of  such  fashion  and  such  color  as  you 
may  elect." 

Then  with  hurried  speech  he  told  her  of  five  years' 
events:  how  within  that  period  King  Henry  had  con 
quered  entire  Prance,  and  had  married  the  French 
King's  daughter,  and  had  begotten  a  boy  who  would 

1 88 


OJlj?    IHarij    nf   tlje 

presently  inherit  the  united  realms  of  France  and  England, 
since  in  the  supreme  hour  of  triumph  King  Henry  had 
been  stricken  with  a  mortal  sickness,  and  now  lay  dying 
or  perhaps  already  dead,  at  Vincennes;  and  how  with  his 
penultimate  breath  the  prostrate  conqueror  had  restored 
to  Queen  Jehane  all  properties  and  all  honors  which  she 
formerly  enjoyed. 

"I  shall  once  more  be  Regent,"  the  woman  said  when 
he  had  made  an  end;  "Antoine,  I  shall  presently  be 
Regent  both  of  France  and  of  England,  since  Dame 
Katharine  is  but  a  child."  Jehane  stood  motionless  save 
for  the  fine  hands  that  plucked  the  air.  "Mistress  of 
Europe!  absolute  mistress,  and  with  an  infant  ward! 
now,  may  God  have  mercy  on  my  unfriends,  for  they  will 
soon  perceive  great  need  of  it ! " 

"  Yet  was  mercy  ever  the  prerogative  of  royal  persons," 
the  Vicomte  suavely  said,  "and  the  Navarrese  we  know 
of  was  both  royal  and  very  merciful,  O  Constant  Lover." 

The  speech  was  as  a  whip-lash.  Abruptly  suspicion 
kindled  in  her  eyes,  as  a  flame  leaps  from  stick  to  stick. 
"Harry  of  Monmouth  feared  neither  man  nor  God.  It 
needed  more  than  any  death-bed  repentance  to  frighten 
him  into  restoral  of  my  liberty."  There  was  a  silence. 
"  You,  a  Frenchman,  come  as  the  emissary  of  King  Henry 
who  has  devastated  France!  are  there  no  English  lords, 
then,  left  alive  of  all  his  army?" 

The  Vicomte  de  Montbrison  said:  "There  is  perhaps 
no  person  better  fitted  to  patch  up  this  dishonorable 
business  of  your  captivity,  wherein  a  clean  man  might 
scarcely  dare  to  meddle." 

She  appraised  this,  and  more  lately  said  with  entire 
irrelevance:  "The  world  has  smirched  you,  somehow. 
At  last  you  have  done  something  save  consider  your  ill- 
treatment.  I  praise  God,  Antoine,  for  it  brings  you  nearer. 

189 


(ttljttialrg 

He  told  her  all.  King  Henry,  it  appeared,  had  dealt 
with  him  at  Havering  in  perfect  frankness.  The  King 
needed  money  for  his  wars  in  France,  and  failing  the 
seizure  of  Jehane's  enormous  wealth,  had  exhausted  every 
resource.  "And  France  I  mean  to  have,"  the  King  said. 
"Yet  the  world  knowrs  you  enjoy  the  favor  of  the  Comte 
de  Charolais ;  so  get  me  an  alliance  with  Burgundy  against 
my  imbecile  brother  of  France,  and  Dame  Jehane  shall 
repossess  her  liberty.  There  you  have  my  price." 

"And  this  price  I  paid,"  the  Vicomte  sternly  said,  "for 
'Unhardy  is  unseely,'  Satan  whispered,  and  I  knew  that 
Duke  Philippe  trusted  me.  Yea,  all  Burgundy  I  mar 
shalled  under  your  stepson's  banner,  and  for  three  years 
I  fought  beneath  his  loathed  banner,  until  in  Troyes  we 
had  trapped  and  slain  the  last  loyal  Frenchman.  And 
to-day  in  France  my  lands  are  confiscate,  and  there  is 
not  an  honest  Frenchman  but  spits  upon  my  name. 
All  infamy  I  come  to  you  for  this  last  time,  Jehane! 
as  a  man  already  dead  I  come  to  you,  Jehane,  for  in  France 
they  thirst  to  murder  me,  and  England  has  no  further  need 
of  Montbrison,  her  blunted  and  her  filthy  instrument!" 

The  woman  shuddered.  "  You  have  set  my  thankless 
service  above  your  life,  above  your  honor  even.  I  find 
the  rhymester  glorious  and  very  vile." 

"All  vile,"  he  answered;  "and  outworn!  King's 
daughter,  I  swore  to  you,  long  since,  eternal  service. 
Of  love  I  freely  gave  you  yonder  in  Navarre,  as  yonder  at 
Eltham  I  crucified  my  innermost  heart  for  your  delecta 
tion.  Yet  I,  at  least,  keep  faith,  and  in  your  face  I  fling 
faith  like  a  glove — outworn,  it  may  be,  and,  God  knows, 
unclean!  Yet  I,  at  least,  keep  faith!  Lands  and  wealth 
have  I  given  up  for  you,  O  king's  daughter,  and  life 
itself  have  I  given  you,  and  lifelong  service  have  I  given 
you,  and  all  that  I  had  save  honor ;  and  at  the  last  I  give 

190 


§>t0rg   nf   ilj?    N 

you  honor,  too.  Now  let  the  naked  fool  depart,  Jehane, 
for  he  has  nothing  more  to  give." 

She  had  leaned,  while  thus  he  spoke,  upon  the  sill  of 
an  open  casement.  "Indeed,  it  had  been  far  better," 
she  said,  and  with  averted  face,  "  had  we  never  met. 
For  this  love  of  ours  has  proven  a  tyrannous  and  evil  lord. 
I  have  had  everything,  and  upon  each  feast  of  will  and 
sense  the  world  afforded  me  this  love  has  swept  down, 
like  a  harpy — was  it  not  a  harpy  you  called  the  bird  in 
that  old  poem  of  yours  ? — to  rob  me  of  delight.  And 
you  have  had  nothing,  for  of  life  he  has  pilfered  you, 
and  he  has  given  you  in  exchange  but  dreams,  my  poor 
Antoine,  and  he  has  led  you  at  the  last  to  infamy.  We 
are  as  God  made  us,  and  —  I  may  not  understand  why 
He  permits  this  despotism." 

Thereafter,  somewhere  below,  a  peasant  sang  as  he 
passed  supperward  through  the  green  twilight,  lit  as  yet 
by  one  low-hanging  star  alone. 

Sang  the  peasant: 

"King  Jesus  hung  upon  the  Cross, 

'  And  have  ye  sinned  ?  '  quo '  He,— 
'Nay,  Dysmas,   'tis  no  honest  loss 
When  Satan  cogs  the  dice  ye  toss, 
And  thou  shalt  sup  with  Me, — • 
Sedebis  apud  angelos, 
Quia  amavistif 

"At  Heaven's  Gate  was  Heaven's  Queen, 

'And  have  ye  sinned?1  quo'  She,— 
'And  would  I  hold  him  worth  a  bean 
That  durst  not  seek,  because  unclean, 

My  cleansing  charity?— 
Speak  thou  that  wast  the  Magdalene, 
Quia  amavisti  ! ' ' 
191 


"It  may  be  that  in  some  sort  the  jingle  answers  me!" 
then  said  Jehane ;  and  she  began  with  an  odd  breathless- 
ness:  "Friend,  when  King  Henry  dies — and  even  now 
he  dies — shall  I  not  as  Regent  possess  such  power  as  no 
woman  has  ever  wielded  in  Europe?  can  aught  prevent 
this?" 

4 '  Naught , "  he  answered . 

"Unless,  friend,  I  were  wedded  to  a  Frenchman. 
Then  would  the  stern  English  lords  never  permit  that  I 
have  any  finger  in  the  government."  She  came  to  him 
with  conspicuous  deliberation  and  laid  one  delicate  hand 
upon  either  shoulder.  "  Friend,  I  am  aweary  of  these 
tinsel  splendors.  I  crave  the  real  kingdom." 

Her  mouth  was  tremulous  and  lax,  and  her  gray  eyes 
were  more  brilliant  than  the  star  yonder.  The  man's 
arms  were  about  her,  and  an  ecstasy  too  noble  for  any 
common  mirth  had  mastered  them,  and  a  vast  desire 
whose  aim  they  could  not  word,  or  even  apprehend  save 
cloudily. 

And  of  the  man's  face  I  cannot  tell  you.  "King's 
daughter!  mistress  of  half  Europe!  I  am  a  beggar,  an 
outcast,  as  a  leper  among  honorable  persons." 

But  it  was  as  though  he  had  not  spoken.  "Friend, 
it  was  for  this  I  have  outlived  these  garish,  fevered  years, 
it  was  this  which  made  me  glad  when  I  was  a  child  and 
laughed  without  knowing  why.  That  I  might  to-day 
give  up  this  so-great  power  for  love  of  you,  my  all- 
incapable  and  soiled  Antoine,  was,  as  I  now  know,  the 
end  to  which  the  Eternal  Father  created  me.  For,  look 
you,"  she  pleaded,  "to  surrender  absolute  dominion  over 
half  Europe  is  a  sacrifice.  Assure  me  that  it  is  a  sacrifice, 
Antoine!  O  glorious  fool,  delude  me  into  the  belief 
that  I  deny  myself  in  choosing  you!  Nay,  I  know  it  is 
as  nothing  beside  what  you  have  given  up  for  me,  but 

192 


uf   tit?    Nauarr^is? 

it  is  all  I  have — it  is  all  I  have,  Antoine!"  she  wailed  in 
pitiful  distress. 

He  drew  a  deep  and  big-lunged  breath  that  seemed  to 
inform  his  being  with  an  indomitable  vigor,  and  doubt 
and  sorrow  went  quite  away  from  him.  "  Love  leads  us," 
he  said,  "and  through  the  sunlight  of  the  world  he  leads 
us,  and  through  the  filth  of  it  Love  leads  us,  but  always 
in  the  end,  if  we  but  follow  without  swerving,  he  leads 
upward.  Yet,  O  God  upon  the  Cross!  Thou  that  in  the 
article  of  death  didst  pardon  Dysmas!  as  what  maimed 
warriors  of  life,  as  what  bemired  travellers  in  muddied 
byways,  must  we  presently  come  to  Thee!" 

"But  hand  in  hand,"  she  answered;  "and  He  will 
comprehend." 


THE    END    OF    THE    NINTH    NOVEL 


X 
nf 


"Dame  serez  de  mon  cueur,  sans  debat, 
hntierement,  jusques  mort  me  consume. 
Laurier  souef  qiti  pour  mon  droit  combat, 
Olivier  franc,  m'ostant  toute  amertume." 


'4 


THE  TENTH  NOVEL. — KATHARINE  OF  VALOIS  IS  WON  BY  A 
HUNTSMAN,  AND  LOVES  HIM  GREATLY;  THEN  FINDS  HIM,  TO 
HER  HORROR,  AN  IMPOSTOR;  AND  FOR  A  SUFFICIENT  REA 
SON  CONSENTS  TO  MARRY  QUITE  ANOTHER  PERSON,  AND 
NOT  ALL  UNWILLINGLY. 


'N  the  year  of  grace  1417,  about  Martinmas 
(thus  Nicolas  begins),  Queen  Isabeau  iled 
with  her  daughter  the  Lady  Katharine 
to  Chartres.  There  the  Queen  was  met 
by  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  these 
two  laid  their  heads  together  to  such 
good  effect  that  presently  they  got  back  into  Paris,  and 
in  its  public  places  massacred  some  three  thousand  Ar- 
magnacs.  This,  however,  is  a  matter  which  touches  his 
tory  ;  the  root  of  our  concernment  is  that  when  the  Queen 
and  the  Duke  rode  off  to  attend  to  this  butcher's  busi 
ness,  the  Lady  Katharine  was  left  behind  in  the  Convent  of 
Saint  Scholastica,  which  then  stood  upon  the  outskirts 
of  Chartres,  in  the  bend  of  the  Eure  just  south  of  that 
city.  She  dwelt  a  year  in  this  well-ordered  place. 

There  one  finds  her  upon  the  day  of  the  decollation  of 
Saint  John  the  Baptist,  the  fine  August  morning  that 
starts  the  tale.  Katharine  the  Fair,  men  called  her, 
with  some  show  of  reason.  She  wras  very  tall,  and  slim 
as  a  rush.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  black,  having  an  ex 
treme  lustre,  like  the  gleam  of  undried  ink— a  lustre  at  odd 
times  uncanny.  Her  abundant  hair,  too,  was  black,  and 
to-day  doubly  sombre  by  contrast  with  the  gold  netting 
\vhich  confined  it.  Her  mouth  was  scarlet,  all  curves, 
and  her  complexion  famous  lor  its  brilliancy;  only  a 
precisian  would  have  objected  that  she  possessed  the 

197 


Vulois  nose,  long  and  thin  and  somewhat  unduly  over 
hanging  the  mouth. 

To-day  as  she  came  through  the  orchard,  crimson- 
garbed,  she  paused  with  lifted  eyebrows.  Beyond  the 
orchard  wall  there  was  a  hodgepodge  of  noises,  among 
which  a  nice  ear  might  distinguish  the  clatter  of  hoofs, 
a  yelping  and  scurrying,  and  a  contention  of  soft  bodies, 
and  above  all  a  man's  voice  commanding  the  turmoil. 
She  was  seventeen,  so  she  climbed  into  the  crotch  of  an 
apple-tree  and  peered  over  the  wall. 

He  was  in  rusty  brown  and  not  unshabby;  but  her 
regard  swept  over  this  to  his  face,  and  there  noted  how 
his  eyes  were  blue  winter  stars  under  the  tumbled  yellow 
hair,  and  the  flash  of  his  big  teeth  as  he  swore  between 
them.  He  held  a  dead  fox  by  the  brush,  which  he  was 
cutting  off;  two  hounds,  lank  and  wolfish,  were  scaling 
his  huge  body  in  frantic  attempts  to  get  at  the  carrion. 
A  horse  grazed  close  at  hand. 

So  for  a  heart-beat  she  saw  him.  Then  he  flung  the 
tailless  body  to  the  hounds,  and  in  the  act  spied  two  black 
eyes  peeping  through  the  apple-leaves.  He  laughed, 
all  mirth  to  the  heels  of  him.  ''Mademoiselle,  I  fear  we 
have  disturbed  your  devotions.  But  I  had  not  heard 
that  it  was  a  Benedictine  custom  to  rehearse  aves  in  tree- 
tops."  Then,  as  she  leaned  forward,  both  elbows  resting 
more  comfortably  upon  the  wall,  and  thereby  disclosing 
her  slim  body  among  the  foliage  like  a  crimson  flower 
green-calyxed :  "  You  are  not  a  nun—  Blood  of  God !  you 
are  the  Princess  Katharine!" 

The  nuns,  her  present  guardians,  would  have  declared 
the  ensuing  action  horrific,  for  Katharine  smiled  frankly 
at  him  and  demanded  how  he  could  be  certain  of  this. 

He  answered  slowly:  "I  have  seen  your  portrait. 
Hall,  your  portrait!"  he  jeered,  head  flung  back  and  big 

198 


"SO      FOR      A      HEART-BEAT      SHE      SAW      HIM 


rg    nf   tlte 

teeth  glinting  in  the  sunlight.  "There  is  a  painter 
who  merits  crucifixion." 

She  considered  this  indicative  of  a  cruel  disposition, 
but  also  of  a  fine  taste  in  the  liberal  arts.  Aloud  she 
stated : 

"You  are  not  a  Frenchman,  messire.  I  do  not  under 
stand  how  you  can  have  seen  my  portrait." 

The  man  stood  for  a  moment  twiddling  the  fox-brush. 
"  I  am  a  harper,  my  Princess.  I  have  visited  the  courts 
of  many  kings,  though  never  that  of  France.  I  perceive 
I  have  been  woefully  unwise." 

This  trenched  upon  insolence — the  look  of  his  eyes, 
indeed,  carried  it  well  past  the  frontier — but  she  found 
the  statement  interesting.  Straightway  she  touched  the 
kernel  of  those  fear-blurred  legends  whispered  about  her 
cradle  and  now  clamant. 

"You  have,  then,  seen  the  King  of  England?" 

"Yes,  Highness." 

"Is  it  true  that  he  is  an  ogre — like  Agrapard  and 
Angoulaffre  of  the  Broken  Teeth?" 

His  gaze  widened.  "I  have  heard  a  deal  of  scandal 
concerning  the  man.  But  never  that." 

Katharine  settled  back,  luxuriously,  in  the  crotch  of 
the  apple-tree  "Tell  me  about  him." 

Composedly  he  sat  down  upon  the  grass  and  began  to 
acquaint  her  with  his  knowledge  and  opinions  concerning 
Henry,  the  fifth  of  that  name  to  reign  in  England. 
Katharine  punctuated  his  discourse  with  eager  question 
ings,  which  are  not  absolutely  to  our  purpose.  In  the 
main  this  harper  thought  the  man  now  buffeting  France 
a  just  king,  and,  the  crown  laid  aside,  he  had  heard  Sire 
Henry  to  be  sufficiently  jovial  and  even  prankish.  The 
harper  educed  anecdotes.  He  considered  that  the  King 
would  manifestly  take  Rouen,  which  the  insatiable  man 

I99 


GJtjtnairg 

was  now  besieging.  Was  the  King  in  treaty  for  the  hand 
of  the  Infanta  of  Aragon?  Yes,  he  undoubtedly  was. 

Katharine  sighed  her  pity  for  this  ill-starred  woman. 
"And  now  tell  me  about  yourself." 

He  was,  it  appeared,  Alain  Maquedonnieux,  a  harper 
by  vocation,  and  by  birth  a  native  of  Ireland.  Beyond 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  savage  kingdom  adjoining  Cataia, 
Katharine  knew  nothing  of  Ireland.  The  harper  assured 
her  of  anterior  misinformation,  since  the  kings  of  Eng 
land  claimed  Ireland  as  an  appanage,  though  the  Irish 
themselves  were  of  two  minds  as  to  the  justice  of  these 
pretensions;  all  in  all,  he  considered  that  Ireland  belonged 
to  Saint  Patrick,  and  that  the  holy  man  had  never  ac 
credited  a  vicar. 

"Doubtless,  by  the  advice  of  God,"  Alain  said:  "for 
I  have  read  in  Master  Roger  de  Wendover's  Chronicles 
of  how  at  the  dread  day  of  judgment  all  the  Irish  are  to 
muster  before  the  high  and  pious  Patrick,  as  their  liege 
lord  and  father  in  the  spirit,  and  by  him  be  conducted 
into  the  presence  of  God ;  and  of  how,  by  virtue  of  Saint 
Patrick's  request,  all  the  Irish  will  die  seven  years  to  an 
hour  before  the  second  coming  of  Christ,  in  order  to  give 
the  blessed  saint  sufficient  time  to  marshal  his  company, 
which  is  considerable."  Katharine  admitted  the  conven 
ience  of  this  arrangement,  as  well  as  the  neglect  of  her 
education.  Alain  gazed  up  at  her  for  a  long  while,  as 
in  reflection,  and  presently  said:  "Doubtless  the  Lady 
Heleine  of  Argos  also  was  thus  starry-eyed  and  found 
in  books  less  diverting  reading  than  in  the  faces  of  men." 
It  flooded  Katharine's  cheeks  with  a  livelier  hue,  but  did 
not  vex  her  irretrievably;  yet,  had  she  chosen  to  read 
this  man's  face,  the  meaning  was  plain  enough. 

I  give  you  the  gist  of  their  talk,  and  that  in  all  con 
science  is  trivial.  But  it  was  a  day  when  one  entered 

200 


§tnrg    of   tljp    Jnx-l 

love's  wardship  with  a  splurge,  not  in  more  modern  fashion 
venturing  forward  bit  by  bit,  as  though  love  were  so 
much  cold  water.  So  they  talked  for  a  long  while,  with 
laughter  mutually  provoked  and  shared,  with  divers 
eloquent  and  dangerous  pauses.  The  harper  squatted 
upon  the  ground,  the  Princess  leaned  over  the  wall ;  but 
to  all  intent  they  sat  together  upon  the  loftiest  turret  of 
Paradise,  and  it  was  a  full  two  hours  before  Katharine 
hinted  at  departure. 

Alain  rose,  approaching  the  wall.  "To-morrow  I  ride 
for  Milan  to  take  service  with  Duke  Filippo.  I  had 
broken  my  journey  these  three  days  past  at  Chateauneuf 
yonder,  where  this  fox  has  been  harrying  my  host's 
chickens.  To-day  I  went  out  to  slay  him,  and  he  led  me, 
his  murderer,  to  the  fairest  lady  earth  may  boast.  Do 
you  not  think  this  fox  was  a  true  Christian,  my  Prin 
cess?" 

Katharine  said :  "I  lament  his  destruction.  Fare 
well,  Messire  Alain!  And  since  chance  brought  you 
hither — " 

"  Destiny  brought  me  hither,"  Alain  affirmed,  a  master 
ing  hunger  in  his  eyes.  "  Destiny  has  been  kind ;  I  shall 
make  a  prayer  to  her  that  she  continue  so."  But  when 
Katharine  demanded  what  this  prayer  would  be,  Alain 
shook  his  tawny  head.  "  Presently  you  shall  know, 
Highness,  but  not  now.  I  return  to  Chateauneuf  on 
certain  necessary  businesses;  to-morrow  I  set  out  at 
cockcrow  for  Milan  and  the  Visconti's  livery.  Farewell!" 
He  mounted  and  rode  away  in  the  golden  August  sunlight, 
the  hounds  frisking  about  him.  The  fox-brush  was 
fastened  in  his  hat.  Thus  Tristran  de  Leonois  may  have 
ridden  a-hawking  in  drowned  Cornwall,  thus  statelily 
and  composedly,  Katharine  thought,  gazing  after  him, 
She  went  to  her  apartments,  singing, 

201 


"El  terns  amor  ens  plein  de  joie, 
El  terns  oil  tote  riens  s'esgaie  — 

and  burst  into  a  sudden  passion  of  tears.  There  were 
hosts  of  women -children  born  every  day,  she  reflected, 
who  were  not  princesses  and  therefore  compelled  to  marry 
ogres;  and  some  of  them  were  beautiful.  And  minstrels 
made  such  an  ado  over  beauty. 

Dawn  found  her  in  the  orchard.  She  wras  to  remember 
that  it  was  a  cloudy  morning,  and  that  mist-tatters 
trailed  from  the  more  distant  trees.  In  the  slaty  twilight 
the  garden's  verdure  was  lustreless,  grass  and  foliage 
uniformly  sombre  save  where  dewdrops  showed  like 
beryls.  Nowhere  in  the  orchard  was  there  absolute 
shadow,  nowhere  a  vista  unblurred;  but  in  the  east, 
half-way  between  horizon  and  zenith,  two  belts  of 
coppery  light  flared  against  the  gray  sky  like  embers 
swaddled  by  their  ashes.  The  birds  were  waking; 
there  wrere  occasional  scurryings  in  tree-tops  and  out 
bursts  of  peevish  twittering  to  attest  as  much;  and 
presently  came  a  singing,  less  meritorious  than  that  of 
many  a  bird  perhaps,  but  far  more  grateful  to  the  girl 
who  heard  it,  heart  in  mouth.  A  lute  accompanied  the 
song  demurely. 

Sang  Alain: 

"0  Madam  Destiny,  omnipotent, 

Be  not  too  obdurate  the  while  we  pray 

That  this  the  fleet,  sweet  time  of  youth  be  spent 
In  laughter  as  befits  a  holiday, 
From  which  the  evening  summons  us  away, 

From  which  to-morrow  wakens  us  to  strife 
And  toil  and  grief  and  wisdom — and  to-day 

Grudge  us  not  life! 

202 


£>tnry    of   tljp    JFnx- 

"0  Madam  Destiny,  omnipotent, 

Why  need  our  ciders  trouble  us  at  play? 

We  know  that  very  soon  we  shall  repent 
The  idle  follies  of  our  holiday, 
And  being  old,  shall  be  as  wise  as  they, 

Bnt  now  we  are  not  wise,  and  lute  and  fife 
Seem  sweeter  far  than  wisdom — so  to-day 

Grudge  us  not  life! 

"O  Madam  Destiny,  omnipotent, 

You  have  given  us  youth — and  must  we  cast  away 
The  cup  undrained  and  our  one  coin  unspent 
Because  our  elders'  beards  and  hearts  are  gray? 
They  have  forgotten  that  if  we  delay 
Death  claps  us  on  the  shoulder,  and  with  knife 

Or  cord  or  fever  mocks  the  prayer  we  pray — 
'Grudge  us  not  life!' 

"Madam,  recall  that  in  the  sun  we  play 

But  for  an  hour,  then  have  the  worm  for  wife, 
The  tomb  for  habitation — and  to-day 
Grudge  us  not  life!" 

Candor  in  these  matters  is  best.  Katharine  scrambled 
into  the  crotch  of  the  apple-tree.  The  dew  pattered 
sharply  about  her,  but  the  Princess  was  not  in  a  mood 
to  appraise  discomfort. 

"You  came!"  this  harper  said,  transfigured;   and  then 
again,  "You  came!" 
^  She  breathed,  "Yes." 

So  for  a  long  time  they  stood  looking  at  each  other. 
She  found  adoration  in  his  eyes  and  quailed  before  it; 
and  in  the  man's  mind  not  a  grimy  and  mean  incident 
of  the  past  but  marshalled  to  leer  at  his  unworthiness : 

203 


yet  in  that  primitive  garden  the  first  man  and  woman, 
meeting,  knew  no  sweeter  terror. 

It  wTas  by  the  minstrel  a  familiar  earth  and  the  grat 
ing  speech  of  earth  were  earlier  regained.  "  The  affair  is  of 
the  suddenest,"  Alain  observed,  and  he  now  swung  the  lute 
behind  him.  He  indicated  no  intention  of  touching  her, 
though  he  might  easily  have  clone  so  as  he  sat  there 
exalted  by  the  height  of  his  horse.  "A  meteor  arrives 
with  more  prelude.  But  Love  is  an  arbitrary  lord ; 
desiring  my  heart,  he  has  seized  it,  and  accordingly  I 
would  now  brave  hell  to  come  to  you,  and  finding  you  there, 
esteem  hell  a  pleasure-garden.  I  have  already  made  my 
prayer  to  Destiny  that  she  concede  me  love,  and  now 
of  God,  our  Father  and  Master,  I  entreat  quick  death  if 
I  am  not  to  win  you.  For,  God  willing,  I  shall  come  to 
you  again,  though  in  doing  so  it  were  necessary  that  I 
split  the  world  like  a  rotten  orange." 

"Madness!  Oh,  brave,  sweet  madness!"  Katharine 
said.  "  I  am  a  king's  daughter,  and  you  a  min 
strel." 

"Is  it  madness?  Why,  then,  I  think  all  sensible  men 
are  to  be  commiserated.  And  indeed  I  spy  in  all  this 
some  design.  Across  half  the  earth  I  came  to  you,  led 
by  a  fox.  Heh,  God's  face!"  Alain  swore;  "the  foxes 
Samson,  that  old  sinewy  captain,  loosed  among  the  corn 
of  heathenry  kindled  no  disputation  such  as  this  fox 
has  set  afoot.  That  was  an  affair  of  standing  corn  and 
olives  spoilt,  a  bushel  or  so  of  disaster;  now  poised 
kingdoms  topple  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  There  will  be 
martial  argument  shortly  if  you  bid  me  come  again." 

"I  bid  you  come,"  said  Katharine;  and  after  they 
had  stared  at  each  other  for  a  long  while,  he  rode  away 
in  silence.  It  was  through  a  dank,  tear-flawed  world 
that  she  stumbled  conventward,  while  out  of  the  east 

204 


0f   Hi?    3ff0x-Sruslt 

the  sun  came  bathed  in  mists,  a  watery  sun  no  brighter 
than  a  silver  coin. 

And  for  a  month  the  world  seemed  no  less  dreary, 
but  about  Michaelmas  the  Queen-Regent  sent  for  her. 
At  the  Hotel  de  Saint-Pol  matters  were  much  the  same. 
Her  mother  Katharine  found  in  foul-mouthed  rage  over 
the  failure  of  a  third  attempt  to  poison  the  Dauphin  of 
Vienne,  as  Isabeau  had  previously  poisoned  her  two  elder 
sons;  I  might  here  trace  out  a  curious  similitude  between 
the  Valois  and  that  dragon-spawned  race  which  Jason 
very  anciently  slew  at  Colchis,  since  the  world  was  never 
at  peace  so  long  as  any  two  of  them  existed:  but  King 
Charles  greeted  his  daughter  with  ampler  deference, 
esteeming  her  Presbyter  John's  wife,  the  tyrant  of 
^Ethiopia.  However,  ingenuity  had  just  suggested  card- 
playing  for  his  amusement,  and  he  paid  little  attention 
nowadays  to  any  one  save  his  opponent. 

So  the  French  King  chirped  his  senile  jests  over  the 
card-table,  while  the  King  of  England  was  besieging  the 
French  city  of  Rouen  sedulously  and  without  mercy.  In 
late  autumn  an  armament  from  Ireland  joined.  Henry's 
forces.  The  Irish  fought  naked,  it  was  said,  with  long 
knives.  Katharine  heard  discreditable  tales  of  these 
Irish,  and  reflected  how  gross  are  the  exaggerations  of 
rumor. 

In  the  year  of  grace  1419,  in  January,  the  burgesses  of 
Rouen,  having  consumed  their  horses,  and  finding  frogs 
and  rats  unpalatable,  yielded  the  town.  It  was  the 
Queen-Regent  who  brought  the  news  to  Katharine. 

"God  is  asleep,"  the  Queen  said;  "and  while  He  nods, 
the  Butcher  of  Agincourt  has  stolen  our  good  city  of 
Rouen."  She  sat  down  and  breathed  heavily.  "Never 
was  poor  woman  so  pestered  as  I !  The  puddings  to-day 
were  quite  uneatable,  and  on  Sunday  the  Englishman 

205 


entered  Rouen  in  great  splendor,  attended  by  his  chief 
nobles;  but  the  Butcher  rode  alone,  and  before  him 
went  a  page  carrying  a  fox-brush  on  the  point  of  his  lance. 
I  put  it  to  you,  is  that  the  contrivance  of  a  sane  man? 
Euh!  euh!"  Dame  Isabeau  squealed  on  a  sudden;  "you 
are  bruising  me." 

Katharine  had  gripped  her  by  the  shoulder.  "The 
King  of  England — a  tall,  fair  man?  with  big  teeth?  a 
tiny  wen  upon  his  neck — here — and  with  his  left  cheek 
scarred?  with  blue  eyes,  very  bright,  bright  as  tapers?" 
She  poured  out  her  questions  in  a  torrent,  and  awaited  the 
answer,  seeming  not  to  breathe  at  all. 

"I  believe  so,"  the  Queen  said. 

"O  God!"  said  Katharine. 

"Ay,  our  only  hope  now.  And  may  God  show  him  no 
more  mercy  than  he  has  shown  us ! "  the  good  lady  desired, 
with  fervor.  "The  hog,  having  won  our  Normandy,  is 
now  advancing  on  Paris  itself.  He  repudiated  the 
Aragonish  alliance  last  August;  and  until  last  August  he 
was  content  with  Normandy,  they  tell  us,  but  now  he 
swears  to  win  all  France.  The  man  is  a  madman,  and 
Scythian  Tamburlaine  was  more  lenient.  And  I  do  not 
believe  that  in  all  France  there  is  a  cook  who  understands 
his  business."  She  went  away  whimpering  and  proceeded 
to  get  tipsy. 

The  Princess  remained  quite  still,  as  Dame  Isabeau 
had  left  her ;  you  may  see  a  hare  crouch  so  at  sight  of  the 
hounds.  Finally  the  girl  spoke  aloud.  "Until  last 
August!"  Katharine  said.  "Until  last  August!  Poised 
kingdoms  topple  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  now  that  you  bid  me 
come  to  yon  again.  And  I  bade  him  come!"  Presently 
she  went  into  her  oratory  and  began  to  pray. 

In  the  midst  of  her  invocation  she  wailed:  " Fool,  fool! 
How  could  I  have  thought  him  less  than  a  king!" 

206 


IHnrg   nf   tljr    Jfax-Uruflfj 

You  arc  to  imagine  her  breast  thus  adrum  with  remorse 
and  hatred  of  herself,  what  time  town  by  town  fell  before 
the  invader  like  card-houses.  Every  rumor  of  defeat — 
and  they  were  many — was  her  arraignment;  impotently 
she  cowered  at  God's  knees,  knowing  herself  a  murderess, 
whose  infamy  was  still  afoot,  outpacing  her  prayers, 
whose  victims  were  battalions.  Tarpeia  and  Pisidice 
and  Rahab  were  her  sisters;  she  hungered  in  her  abase 
ment  for  Judith's  nobler  guilt. 

In  May  he  came  to  her.  A  truce  was  patched  up 
and  French  and  English  met  amicably  in  a  great  plain, 
near  Meulan.  A  square  space  was  staked  out  and  on 
three  sides  boarded  in,  the  fourth  side  being  the  river 
Seine.  This  enclosure  the  Queen-Regent,  Jchan  of 
Burgundy,  and  Katharine  entered  from  the  French  side. 
Simultaneously  the  English  King  appeared,  accompanied 
by  his  brothers  the  Dukes  of  Clarence  and  Gloucester, 
and  followed  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  Katharine  raised 
her  eyes  with  I  know  not  what  lingering  hope;  it  was  he, 
a  young  Zeus  now,  triumphant  and  un eager.  In  his 
helmet  in  place  of  a  plume  he  wore  a  fox-brush  spangled 
with  jewels. 

These  six  entered  the  tent  pitched  for  the  conference — 
the  hanging  of  blue  velvet  embroidered  with  fleurs-de-lys 
of  gold  blurred  before  the  girl's  eyes,  and  till  death  the 
device  sickened  her — and  there  the  Earl  of  Warwick 
embarked  upon  a  sea  of  rhetoric.  His  French  was  in 
different,  his  periods  interminable,  and  his  demands 
exorbitant;  in  brief,  the  King  of  England  wanted  Katha 
rine  and  most  of  France,  with  a  reversion  at  the  French 
King's  death  of  the  entire  kingdom.  Meanwhile  Sire 
Henry  sat  in  silence,  his  eyes  glowing. 

"I  have  come,"  he  said,  under  cover  of  Warwick's 
oratory  -  "I  have  come  again,  my  lady." 

207 


Katharine's  gaze  flickered  over  him.  ''Liar!"  she 
said,  very  softly.  "Has  God  no  thunder  in  His  armory 
that  this  vile  thief  should  go  unblasted?  Would  you 
filch  love  as  well  as  kingdoms?" 

His  ruddy  face  went  white.  "  I  love  you,  Katha 
rine." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "for  I  am  your  pretext.  I  can 
well  believe,  messire,  that  you  love  your  pretext  for  theft 
and  murder." 

Neither  spoke  after  this,  and  presently  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  having  come  to  his  peroration,  the  matter 
was  adjourned  till  the  next  day.  The  party  separated. 
It  was  not  long  before  Katharine  had  informed  her 
mother  that,  God  willing,  she  would  never  again  look 
upon  the  King  of  England's  face  uncoffined.  Isabeau 
found  her  a  madwoman.  The  girl  swept  opposition 
before  her  with  gusts  of  demoniacal  fury,  wept,  shrieked, 
tore  at  her  hair,  and  eventually  fell  into  a  sort  of  epileptic 
seizure;  between  rage  and  terror  she  became  a  horrid, 
frenzied  beast.  I  do  not  dwell  upon  this,  for  it  is  not  a 
condition  in  which  the  comeliest  maid  shows  to  advantage. 
But,  for  the  Valois,  insanity  always  lurked  at  the  next 
corner,  expectant,  and  they  knew  it;  to  save  the  girl's 
reason  the  Queen  was  forced  to  break  off  all  discussion 
of  the  match.  Accordingly,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  went 
next  day  to  the  conference  alone.  Jehan  began  with 
"ifs,"  and  over  these  flimsy  barriers  Henry,  already 
maddened  by  Katharine's  scorn,  presently  vaulted  to  a 
towering  fury. 

"Fair  cousin,"  the  King  said,  after  a  deal  of  vehement 
bickering,  "we  wish  you  to  know  that  we  will  have  the 
daughter  of  your  King,  and  that  we  will  drive  both  him 
and  you  out  of  this  kingdom." 

The  Duke  answered,  not  without  spirit:  "Sire,  you  are 

208 


rg    0f   tlte    3?0*- 

pleased  to  say  so ;  but  before  you  have  succeeded  in  oust 
ing  my  lord  and  me  from  this  realm,  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  you  will  be  very  heartily  tired." 

At  this  the  King  turned  on  his  heel ;  over  his  shoulder 
he  flung:  "I  am  tireless;  also,  I  am  agile  as  a  fox  in  the 
pursuit  of  my  desires.  Say  that  to  your  Princess." 
Then  he  went  away  in  a  rage. 

It  had  seemed  an  appro vable  business  to  win  love 
incognito,  according  to  the  example  of  many  ancient 
emperors,  but  in  practice  he  had  tripped  over  an  ugly 
outgrowth  from  the  legendary  custom.  The  girl  hated 
him,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it;  and  it  was  equally 
certain  he  loved  her.  Particularly  caustic  was  the  reflec 
tion  that  a  twitch  of  his  finger  would  get  him  Katharine 
as  his  wife,  for  in  secret  negotiation  the  Queen-Regent 
was  soon  trying  to  bring  this  about;  yes,  he  could  get  the 
girl's  body  by  a  couple  of  pen-strokes;  but,  God's  face! 
what  he  wanted  was  to  rouse  the  look  her  eyes  had  borne 
in  Chartres  orchard  that  tranquil  morning,  and  this  one 
could  not  readily  secure  by  fiddling  with  seals  and  parch 
ments.  You  see  his  position:  he  loved  the  Princess  too 
utterly  to  take  her  on  lip-consent,  and  this  marriage  was 
now  his  one  possible  excuse  for  ceasing  from  victorious 
warfare.  So  he  blustered,  and  the  fighting  recommenced ; 
and  he  slew  in  a  despairing  rage,  knowing  that  by  every 
movement  of  his  arm  he  became  to  her  so  much  the  more 
detestable. 

He  stripped  the  realm  of  provinces  as  you  peel  the 
layers  from  an  onion.  By  the  May  of  the  year  of  grace 
1420  France  was,  and  knew  herself  to  be,  not  beaten 
but  demolished .  Only  a  fag  -  end  of  the  French  army 
lay  entrenched  at  Troyes,  where  the  court  awaited 
Henry's  decision  as  to  the  morrow's  action.  If  he  chose 
to  destroy  them  root  and  branch,  lie  could;  and  they 

209 


(E  I)  t  u  a  I  r  y 

knew  such  mercy  as  was  in  the  man  to  be  quite  untarnished 
by  previous  usage.  He  drew  up  a  small  force  before  the 
eity  and  made  no  overtures  toward  either  peace  or  throat- 
cutting. 

This  was  the  posture  of  affairs  on  the  evening  of  the 
Sunday  after  Ascension  day,  when  Katharine  sat  at  cards 
with  her  father  in  his  apartments  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
The  King  was  pursing  his  lips  over  an  alternative  play, 
when  there  came  the  voice  of  one  singing  below  in  the 
courtyard. 

Sang  the  voice: 

"/  get  no  joy  of  my  life 

That  have  weighed  the  world — and  it  was 
Abundant  with  folly,  and  rife 

With  sorrows  brittle  as  glass, 

And  with  joys  that  flicker  and  pass 
As  dreams  through  a  fevered  head, 

And  like  the  dripping  of  rain 
In  gardens  naked  and  dead 

Is  the  obdurate  thin  refrain 
Of  our  youth  which  is  presently  dead. 

''And  she  whom  alone  I  have  loved 

Looks  ever  with  loathing  on  me, 
As  one  she  hath  seen  disproved 

And  stained  with  such  smirches  as  be 

Not  ever  cleansed  utterly, 
And  is  loth  to  remember  the  days 

When  Destiny  fixed  her  name 
As  the  theme  and  the  goal  of  my  praise, 

And  my  love  engenders  shame, 
And  I  stain  what  I  strive  for  and  praise. 

2IO 


^tnrg    uf   tltr    Iffflx-SlrusJj 

"  0  love,  most  perfect  of  all, 

Just  to  have  known  you  is  well! 
And  it  heartens  me  now  to  recall 

That  just  to  have  known  you  is  well, 

And  naught  else  is  desirable 
Save  only  to  do  as  you  willed 

And  to  love  you  my  whole  life  long — 
But  this  heart  in  me  is  filled 

With  hunger  cruel  and  strong, 
And  with  hunger  unfulfilled. 

"  O  Love,  that  art  stronger  than  we, 
Albeit  not  lightly  stilled, 

Thou  art  less  cruel  than  she." 

Malise  came  hastily  into  the  room,  and,  without 
speaking,  laid  a  fox-brush  before  the  Princess. 

Katharine  twirled  it  in  her  hand,  staring  at  the  card- 
littered  table.  "So  you  are  in  his  pay,  Malise?  I  am 
sorry.  But  you  know  that  your  employer  is  master  here. 
Who  am  I  to  forbid  him  entrance  ? "  The  girl  went  away 
silently,  abashed,  and  the  Princess  sat  quite  still,  tapping 
the  brush  against  the  table. 

"  They  do  not  want  me  to  sign  another  treaty,  do  they  ? " 
her  father  asked  timidly.  "  It  appears  to  me  they  are 
always  signing  treaties,  and  I  cannot  see  that  any  good 
comes  of  it.  And  I  would  have  won  the  last  game, 
Katharine,  if  Malise  had  not  interrupted  us.  You  know 
I  would  have  won." 

"Yes,  father,  you  would  have  won.  Oh,  he  must  not 
see  you!"  Katharine  cried,  a  great  tide  of  love  mounting 
in  her  breast,  the  love  that  draws  a  mother  fiercely  to 
shield  her  backward  boy.  "  Father,  will  you  not  go  into 
your  chamber  ?  I  have  a  new  book  for  you,  father — 

IS  211 


all  pictures,  clear.  Come — •"  She  was  coaxing  him 
when  Henry  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"But  I  do  not  wish  to  look  at  pictures,"  Charles  said, 
peevishly;  "  I  wish  to  play  cards.  You  are  an  ungrateful 
daughter,  Katharine.  You  are  never  willing  to  amuse 
me."  He  sat  down  with  a  whimper  and  began  to  pinch 
at  his  dribbling  lips. 

Katharine  had  moved  a  little  toward  the  door.  Her 
face  was  white.  "  Now  welcome,  sire ! "  she  said.  "  Wel 
come,  O  great  conqueror,  who  in  your  hour  of  triumph  can 
find  no  nobler  recreation  than  to  shame  a  maid  with  her 
past  folly!  It  was  valorously  done,  sire.  See,  father; 
here  is  the  King  of  P^ngland  come  to  observe  how  low  we 
sit  that  yesterday  were  lords  of  France." 

"The  King  of  England!"  echoed  Charles,  and  rose  now 
to  his  feet.  "I  thought  we  were  at  war  with  him.  But 
my  memory  is  treacherous.  You  perceive,  brother  of 
England,  I  am  planning  a  new  mouse-trap,  and  my  mind 
is  somewhat  preempted.  I  recall  now  you  are  in  treaty 
for  my  daughter's  hand.  Katharine  is  a  good  girl, 
messire,  but  I  suppose—  He  paused,  as  if  to  regard 
and  hear  some  insensible  counsellor,  and  then  briskly 
resumed :  "  Yes,  I  suppose  policy  demands  that  she  should 
marry  you.  We  trammelled  kings  can  never  go  free  of 
policy — ey,  my  compere  of  England  ?  No ;  it  was  through 
policy  I  wedded  her  mother;  and  we  have  been  very 
unhappy,  Isabeau  and  I.  A  word  in  your  ear,  son-in-law: 
Madame  Isabeau's  soul  formerly  inhabited  a  sow,  as 
Pythagoras  teaches,  and  when  our  Saviour  cast  it  out  at 
Gadara,  the  influence  of  the  moon  drew  it  hither." 

Henry  did  not  say  anything.  Always  his  calm  blue 
eyes  appraised  Dame  Katharine. 

"  Oho,  these  Latinists  cannot  hoodwink  me,  you  observe, 
though  by  ordinary  it  chimes  with  my  humor  to  appear 

212 


uf   ttje    Jffflx-iSruai} 

content.  Policy  again,  mcssire:  for  once  roused,  1  am 
terrible.  To-day  in  the  great  hall  -  window,  under  the 
bleeding  feet  of  Lazarus,  I  slew  ten  flies — very  black  they 
were,  the  black  shrivelled  souls  of  parricides — and  after 
ward  I  wept  for  it.  I  often  weep;  the  Mediterranean 
hath  its  sources  in  my  eyes,  for  my  daughter  cheats  at 
cards.  Cheats,  sir! — and  I  her  father!"  The  incessant 
peering,  the  stealthy  cunning  with  which  Charles  whispered 
this,  the  confidence  with  which  he  clung  to  his  destroyer's 
hand,  was  that  of  a  conspiring  child. 

"Come,  father,"  Katharine  said.  ''Come  away  to  bed, 
dear." 

"Hideous  basilisk!"  he  spat  at  her;  "dare  you  rebel 
against  me?  Am  I  not  King  of  France,  and  is  it  not 
blasphemy  a  King  of  France  should  be  thus  mocked  ? 
Frail  moths  that  flutter  about  my  splendor."  he  shrieked, 
in  an  unheralded  frenzy,  "beware  of  me,  beware!  for  I 
am  omnipotent!  I  am  King  of  France,  God's  regent. 
At  my  command  the  winds  go  about  the  earth,  and 
nightly  the  stars  are  kindled  for  my  recreation.  Perhaps 
I  am  mightier  than  God,  but  I  do  not  remember  now. 
The  reason  is  written  down  and  lies  somewhere  under 
a  bench.  Now  I  sail  for  England.  Eia!  eia!  I  go  to 
ravage  England,  terrible  and  merciless.  But  I  must  have 
my  mouse-traps,  Goodman  Devil,  for  in  England  the 
cats  o'  the  middle-sea  wait  unfed."  He  went  out  of  the 
room,  giggling,  and  in  the  corridor  began  to  sing: 

"Adieu  do  fois  plus  dc  cent  mile! 
Aillors  vois  olr  VEvangile, 
Car  chi  fors  mentir  on  ne  salt.  .  .  ." 

All  this  while  Henry  remained  immovable,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  Katharine.  Thus  (she  meditated)  he  stood 

213 


among  Frenchmen;  he  was  the  boulder,  and  they  the 
waters  that  babbled  and  fretted  about  him.  But  she 
turned  and  met  his  gaze  squarely. 

''And  that,"  she  said,  "is  the  king  whom  you  have 
conquered!  Is  it  not  a  notable  conquest  to  overcome 
so  sapient  a  king  ?  to  pilfer  renown  from  an  idiot  ?  There 
are  pickpockets  in  Troyes,  rogues  doubly  damned,  who 
would  scorn  the  action.  Now  shall  I  fetch  my  mother, 
sire?  the  commander  of  that  great  army  which  you 
overcame?  As  the  hour  is  late  she  is  by  this  tipsy,  but 
she  will  come.  Or  perhaps  she  is  with  some  paid  lover, 
but  if  this  conqueror,  this  second  Alexander,  wills  it  she 
will  come.  O  God ! "  the  girl  wailed,  on  a  sudden ;  "  O  just 
and  all-seeing  God!  are  not  we  of  Valois  so  contemptible 
that  in  conquering  us  it  is  the  victor  who  is  shamed?" 

"Flower  o'  the  marsh!"  he  said,  and  his  big  voice 
pulsed  with  many  tender  cadences — "flower  o'  the 
marsh!  it  is  not  the  King  of  England  who  now  comes  to 
you,  but  Alain  the  harper.  Henry  Plantagenet  God  has  led 
hither  by  the  hand  to  punish  the  sins  of  this  realm  and 
to  reign  in  it  like  a  true  king.  Henry  Plantagenet  will 
cast  out  the  Valois  from  the  throne  they  have  defiled, 
as  Darius  Belshazzar,  for  such  is  the  desire  and  the  intent 
of  God.  But  to  you  comes  Alain  the  harper,  not  as  a 
conqueror  but  as  a  suppliant — Alain  who  has  loved  you 
whole-heartedly  these  two  years  past  and  who  now  kneels 
before  you  entreating  grace." 

Katharine  looked  down  into  his  countenance,  for  to 
his  speech  he  had  fitted  action.  Suddenly  and  for  the 
first  time  she  understood  that  he  believed  France  his  by 
a  divine  favor  and  Heaven's  peculiar  intervention.  He 
thought  himself  God's  factor,  not  His  rebel.  He  was 
rather  stupid,  this  huge  handsome  boy;  and  realizing  it, 
her  hand  went  to  his  shoulder,  half  maternally. 

214 


nf    tli? 

"  It  is  nobly  done,  sire.  I  know  that  you  must  wed  me 
to  uphold  your  claim  to  France,  for  otherwise  in  the 
world's  eyes  you  are  shamed.  You  sell,  and  I  with  my 
body  purchase,  peace  for  France.  There  is  no  need  of 
a  lover's  posture  when  hucksters  meet." 

"  So  changed! "  he  said,  and  he  was  silent  for  an  interval, 
still  kneeling.  Then  he  began:  "You  force  me  to  point 
out  that  I  no  longer  need  a  pretext  to  hold  France. 
France  lies  before  me  prostrate.  By  God's  singular 
grace  I  reign  in  this  fair  kingdom,  mine  by  right  of  con 
quest,  and  an  alliance  with  the  house  of  Valois  will  neither 
make  nor  mar  me."  She  was  unable  to  deny  this, 
unpalatable  as  was  the  fact.  "  But  I  love  you,  and  there 
fore  as  man  wooes  woman  I  sue  to  you.  Do  you  not 
understand  that  there  can  be  between  us  no  question  of 
expediency?  Katharine,  in  Chartres  orchard  there  met 
a  man  and  a  maid  we  know  of ;  now  in  Troyes  they  meet 
again — not  as  princess  and  king,  but  as  man  and  maid, 
the  wooer  and  the  wooed.  Once  I  touched  your  heart, 
I  think.  And  now  in  all  the  world  there  is  one  thing  I 
covet — to  gain  for  the  poor  king  some  portion  of  that  love 
you  would  have  squandered  on  the  harper."  His  hand 
closed  upon  hers. 

At  his  touch  the  girl's  composure  vanished.  ''My 
lord,  you  woo  too  timidly  for  one  who  comes  with  many 
loud-voiced  advocates.  I  am  daughter  to  the  King  of 
France,  and  next  to  my  soul's  salvation  I  esteem  France's 
welfare.  Can  I,  then,  fail  to  love  the  King  of  England, 
who  chooses  the  blood  of  my  countrymen  as  a  judicious 
garb  to  come  a-wooing  in?  How  else,  since  you  have 
ravaged  my  native  land,  since  you  have  besmirched  the 
name  I  bear,  since  yonder  afield  every  wound  in  my 
dead  and  yet  unburied  Frenchmen  is  to  me  a  mouth 
which  shrieks  your  infamy?" 


He  rose.     "  And  yet,  for  all  that,  you  love  me." 

She  could  not  find  words  with  which  to  answer  him 
at  the  first  effort,  but  presently  she  said,  quite  simply, 
"  To  see  you  lying  in  your  coffin  I  would  willingly  give  up 
my  hope  of  heaven,  for  heaven  can  afford  no  sight  more 
desirable." 

"You  loved  Alain." 

"  I  loved  the  husk  of  a  man.  You  can  never  compre 
hend  how  utterly  I  loved  him." 

Now  I  have  to  record  of  this  great  king  a  piece  of 
magnanimity  which  bears  the  impress  of  more  ancient 
times.  "That  you  love  me  is  indisputable,"  he  said, 
"and  this  I  propose  to  demonstrate.  You  will  observe 
that  I  am  quite  unarmed  save  for  this  dagger,  which  I 
now  throw  out  of  the  window—  "  with  the  word  it  jangled 
in  the  courtyard  below.  "I  am  in  Troyes  alone  among 
some  thousand  Frenchmen,  any  one  of  whom  would 
willingly  give  his  life  for  the  privilege  of  taking  mine. 
You  have  but  to  sound  the  gong  beside  you,  and  in  a  few 
moments  I  shall  be  a  dead  man.  Strike,  then!  for  with 
me  dies  the  English  power  in  France.  Strike,  Katharine! 
if  you  see  in  me  but  the  King  of  England." 

She  was  rigid;  and  his  heart  leapt  when  he  saw  it  was 
because  of  terror. 

"  You  came  alone !     You  dared ! " 

He  answered,  with  a  wonderful  smile,  "Proud  spirit! 
how  else  might  I  conquer  you?" 

"  You  have  not  conquered ! "  Katharine  lifted  the  baton 
beside  the  gong,  poising  it.  God  had  granted  her  prayer— 
to  save  France.  Now  might  the  past  and  the  ignominy 
of  the  past  be  merged  in  Judith's  nobler  guilt.  But  I 
must  tell  you  that  in  the  supreme  hour,  Destiny  at  her 
beck,  her  main  desire  was  to  slap  the  man  for  his  childish 
ness.  Oh,  he  had  no  right  thus  to  besot  himself  with 

216 


S'tnrg    nf   tlj?    3ft0x-S$rufilf 

adoration!  This  dejection  at  her  feet  of  his  high  destiny 
awed  her,  and  pricked  her,  too,  with  her  inability  to 
understand  him.  Angrily  she  flung  away  the  baton. 
"Go!  ah,  go!"  she  cried,  as  one  strangling.  "There  has 
been  enough  of  bloodshed,  and  I  must  spare  you,  loathing 
you  as  I  do,  for  I  cannot  with  my  own  hand  murder  you." 

But  the  King  was  a  kindly  tyrant,  crushing  indepen 
dence  from  his  associates  as  lesser  folk  squeeze  water  from 
a  sponge.  "I  cannot  go  thus.  Acknowledge  me  to  be 
Alain,  the  man  you  love,  or  else  strike  upon  the  gong." 

"You  are  cruel!"  she  wailed,  in  her  torture. 

"Yes,  I  am  cruel." 

Katharine  raised  straining  arms  above  her  head  in  a 
hard  gesture  of  despair.  "You  have  conquered.  You 
know  that  I  love  you.  Oh,  if  I  could  find  words  to  voice 
my  shame,  to  shriek  it  in  your  face,  I  could  better  endure 
it!  For  I  love  you.  Body  and  heart  and  soul  I  am 
your  slave.  Mine  is  the  agony,  for  I  love  you!  and 
presently  I  shall  stand  quite  still  and  see  little  French 
men  scramble  about  you  as  hounds  leap  about  a  stag, 
and  afterward  kill  you.  And  after  that  I  shall  live! 
I  preserve  France,  but  after  I  have  slain  you,  Henry, 
I  must  live.  Mine  is  the  agony,  the  enduring  agony." 
She  stayed  motionless  for  an  interval.  "God,  God! 
let  me  not  fail!"  Katharine  breathed;  and  then:  "O  fair 
sweet  friend,  I  am  about  to  commit  a  vile  action,  but  it 
is  for  the  sake  of  France  that  I  love  next  to  God.  As 
Judith  gave  her  body  to  Holof ernes,  I  crucify  my  heart 
for  France's  welfare."  Very  calmly  she  struck  upon  the 
gong. 

If  she  could  have  found  any  reproach  in  his  eyes  during 
the  ensuing  silence,  she  could  have  borne  it;  but  there 
was  only  love.  And  with  all  that,  he  smiled  as  one 
knowing  the  upshot  of  the  matter. 

217 


(Eljtualrg 

A    man-at-arms   came  into   the  room.     "Germain- 
Katharine    said,    and    then    again,    "Germain—        She 
gave  a  swallowing  motion  and  was  silent.     When  she 
spoke  it  was  with  crisp  distinctness.     "Germain,  fetch  a 
harp.     Messire  Alain  here  is  about  to  play  for  me." 

At  the  man's  departure  she  said:  "I  am  very  pitiably 
weak.  Need  you  have  dragged  my  soul,  too,  in  the  clust  ? 
God  heard  my  prayer,  and  you  have  forced  me  to  deny 
His  favor,  as  Peter  denied  Christ.  My  dear,  be  very  kind 
to  me,  for  I  come  to  you  naked  of  honor."  She  fell  at 
the  King's  feet,  embracing  his  knees.  "My  master,  be 
very  kind  to  me,  for  there  remains  only  your  love." 

He  raised  her  to  his  breast.     "  Love  is  enough,"  he  said. 

Next  day  the  English  entered  Troyes  and  in  the  cathe 
dral  church  these  two  were  betrothed.  Henry  was  there 
magnificent  in  a  curious  suit  of  burnished  armor ;  in  place 
of  his  helmet-plume  he  wore  a  fox-brush  ornamented 
with  jewels,  which  unusual  ornament  afforded  great 
matter  of  remark  among  the  busybodies  of  both  armies. 


THE  END  OF  THE  TENTH  NOVEL 


Epilogue 

11  Et  je  fais  sgavoir  a  tons  lecteurs  de  ce  Livret  que  les 
ckoses  que  je  dis  avoir  vues  et  sues  sont  enregistres  icy,  afin 
que  VOMS  pouviez  les  regarder  selon  vostre  bon  sens,  sjil  vous 
plaist" 


HERE  IS  APPENDED  THE  EPILOGUE  THAT  MESSIRE  NICOLAS 
DE  CAEN  MADE  FOR  THE  BOOK  WHICH  CONTAINED  THE 

SOUL  OF  HIM;  AND  WHICH  (IN  CONSEQUENCE)  HE  MIGHT  NOT 

VIEW  AS  HE  DID  ANYTHING  THAT  CONVEYED  ABOUT  THIS 
WORLD  MERE  FLESH  AND  BLOOD  AND  THE  SOUL  OF  ANOTHER 
PERSON. 


A  son  Livret 

^NTREPIDLY  depart,  my  little  book,  into 
the  presence  of  that  most  illustrious  lady 
who  bade  me  compile  you.  Bow  down 
before  her  judgment  patiently.  And  if 
her  sentence  be  that  of  death  I  counsel 
you  to  grieve  not  at  what  cannot  be 
avoided. 

But,  if  by  any  miracle  that  glorious,  strong  fortress  of 
the  weak  consider  it  advisable,  pass  thence  to  every  man 
who  may  desire  to  purchase  you,  and  live  out  your  little 
hour  among  these  very  credulous  persons;  and  at  your 
appointed  season  die  and  be  forgotten.  For  thus  only 
may  you  share  your  betters'  fate,  and  be  at  one  with  those 
famed  comedies  of  Greek  Menander  and  all  the  poignant 
songs  of  Sappho.  Et  quid  Pandonice — thus,  little  book, 
I  charge  you  poultice  your  more-merited  oblivion— 
quid  Pandonics  restat  nisi  nomen  Athen&? 

Yet  even  in  your  brief  existence  you  may  chance  to 
meet  with  those  who  will  affirm  that  the  stories  you 
narrate  are  not  verily  true  and  erroneously  protest  too 
many  assertions  which  are  only  fables.  To  these  you 
will  reply  that  I,  your  maker,  was  in  my  youth  the  quite 
unworthy  servant  of  the  most  high  and  noble  lady,  Dame 
Jehane,  and  in  this  period,  at  and  about  her  house  of 
Havering-Bower,  conversed  in  my  own  person  with  Dame 


221 


Katharine,  then  happily  remarried  to  a  private  gentleman 
of  Wales ;  and  so  obtained  the  matter  of  the  ninth  story 
and  of  the  tenth  authentically.  You  will  say  also  that 
Messire  de  Montbrison  afforded  me  the  main  matter  of  the 
sixth  and  seventh  stories;  and  that,  moreover,  I  once 
journeyed  to  Caer  Id  ion  and  talked  for  some  two  hours 
with  Richard  Holland  (whom  I  found  a  very  old  and 
garrulous  and  cheery  person),  and  got  of  him  the  matter 
of  the  eighth  tale  in  this  dizain,  together  with  much 
information  as  concerns  the  sixth  and  the  seventh.  And 
you  will  add  that  the  matter  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  tales 
was  in  every  detail  related  to  me  by  my  most  illustrious 
mistress,  Madame  Isabella  of  Portugal,  who  had  it  from 
her  mother,  an  equally  veracious  and  immaculate  lady, 
and  one  that  was  in  youth  Dame  Philippa's  most  dear 
associate.  For  the  rest  you  must  admit,  unwillingly, 
the  first  three  stories  in  this  book  to  be  a  thought  less 
solidly  confirmed ;  although  (as  you  will  say)  even  in 
these  I  have  not  ever  deviated  from  what  was  at  odd 
times  narrated  to  me  by  the  aforementioned  persons, 
and  have  always  endeavored  honestly  to  piece  together 
that  which  they  told  me. 

Also,  my  little  book,  you  will  encounter  more  malignant 
people  who  will  jeer  at  you,  and  say  that  you  and  I  have 
cheated  them  of  your  purchase-money.  To  these  you 
will  reply,  with  Plutarch,  Non  mi  auruni  posco,  nee  mi 
pretium.  Secondly  you  will  say  that,  of  necessity,  the 
tailor  cuts  the  coat  according  to  his  cloth;  and  that  he 
cannot  undertake  to  robe  an  Ephialtes  or  a  towering 
Orion  suitably  when  the  resources  of  his  shop  amount  at 
most  to  three  scant  yards  of  cambric.  Indeed  had  I  the 
power  to  make  you  better,  my  little  book,  I  would  have 
done  it.  A  good  conscience  is  a  continual  feast,  and  I 
summon  all  heaven  to  be  my  witness  that  had  I  been 

222 


"NICOLAS:         A      SON      LIVRET" 


Homer  you  had  awed  the  world,  another  Iliad.  1  lament 
the  improbability  of  your  doing  this  as  heartily  as  any 
person  living;  yet  Heaven  willed  it;  and  it  is  in  conse- 
quence  to  Heaven  these  same  cavillers  should  now  com 
plain  if  they  insist  upon  considering  themselves  to  be 
aggrieved. 

So  to  such  impious  people  do  you  make  no  answer  at  all, 
unless  indeed  you  should  elect  to  answer  them  by  repetition 
of  this  trivial  song  which  I  now  make  for  you,  my  little 
book,  at  your  departure  from  me.  And  the  song  runs 
in  this  fashion: 

Depart,  depart,  my  book!  and  live  and  die 

Dependent  on  the  idle  fantasy 

Of  men  who  cannot  view  yon,  quite,  as  I. 

For  I  am  fond,  and  willingly  mistake 
My  book  to  be  the  book  I  meant  to  make, 
And-  cannot  judge  you,  for  that  phantom's  sake. 

Yet  pardon  me  if  I  have  wrought  too  ill 
In  making  you,  that  never  spared  the  will 
To  shape  you  perfectly,  and  lacked  the  skill. 

Ah,  had  I  but  the  power,  my  book,  then  I 
Had  wrought  in  you  some  wizardry  so  high 
That  no  man  but  had  listened  .   .   .    / 

They  pass  by, 

And  shrug — as  we,  who  know  that  unto  us 
It  has  been  granted  never  to  fare  tints, 
And  never  to  be  strong  and  glorious. 


(£  Ij  i  u  a  I  r  g 

Is  it  denied  me  to  perpetuate 
WJuzt  so  much  loving  labor  did  create? — 
I  hear  Oblivion  tap  upon  the  gate, 
And  acquiesce,  not  all  disconsolate. 

For  I  have  got  such  recompense 
Of  that  high-hearted  excellence 
Which  the  contented  craftsman  knows, 
Alone,  that  to  loved  labor  goes, 
And  daily  doth  the  work  he  chose, 
And  counts  all  else  impertinence! 


EXPLICIT   DEGAS    REGINARUM 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


APR  17  1969  52 


o"f  T 

-«t&2.J^ 

«  A  Kj»tt  v 

pi-CD  UD 

NOV    A  ]§?7  33 

DEC  16  1967      8 

LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


C031217771 


